


Because You Left, Part Three

by lookninjas



Series: Because You Left [3]
Category: Glee, Lost
Genre: Crossover, Crossover Pairings, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-30
Updated: 2015-08-10
Packaged: 2018-03-20 06:44:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 20
Words: 125,052
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3640605
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lookninjas/pseuds/lookninjas
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ten years ago, Ben Linus killed several of his own people and left the Island on a stolen submarine with a child that wasn't really his.  But no one can run forever.  Now Ben and Blaine have come home,  and this time, the Island seems determined to keep them forever.  With Kurt, Burt, and Brittany struggling to find their way out of the past and back to the present, the cost of survival will be higher than anyone could have imagined.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. 15 Step

**Author's Note:**

> This story is a work in progress. All of Part Three has been completed, and chapters will be posted once a week, on Mondays. Hopefully, by the time all of Part Three has been posted, I'll have enough of Part Four written to just keep on trucking, but I guess we'll cross that bridge when we come to it. 
> 
> If you have not read the first two parts of the story, it might be a good idea to go back and at least skim them. I can't imagine this will make much sense otherwise. But, hey. You do you.
> 
> My eternal gratitude to seldnei for her work as a beta, cheerleader, and part-time therapist.

_"When I know him," Burt says, "he's calling himself Ben Anderson. Nice guy. Math teacher. Hell of a good one, from what I hear. But right now, Kate? He's a twelve year-old boy who goes by the name of Benjamin Linus. And if I've got my dates right, which I think I do, something really, really bad is about to happen to him."_

He isn't telling her anything she doesn't already know. He can tell by the way her eyes widen just slightly, the way her lips part; the way she almost immediately clamps down on that involuntary response and her whole face goes neutral, jaw set just a little bit firmer than before. She knows what's gonna happen to Ben. Probably she knew before she ended up here. Or now. Or whatever.

The woman in Ben's file, the woman he thought she would be -- that woman wouldn't care. He wonders what's changed for her since then.

Probably Ben. Kids'll do that to you.

"Nothing's going to happen to him," Kate says, and Burt can tell how badly she wants to sound sure. Hell, she almost does; there's just that little bit too much fear in her voice. She's known this was coming. She's been waiting for this. 

Waiting for him, even if neither of them knew it. 

Sometimes, on her worst days, the way that Annie described the Island made it seem more like a monster than a place. Like it knew things, like it _made_ things happen. And everything it did left scars. 

Burt never questioned her, not even then. And he sure as hell isn't arguing with her now.

"'Cause you're gonna stop it," Burt finishes. It makes more and more sense the more he thinks about it. Kate knew what was going to happen before she came here. Didn't mean much to her at the time -- enough to stick with her, but not much more than that. Then, however she does it, she ends up here. She meets Ben, just a kid in round glasses with his head tipped down, hair falling in his eyes. She starts to spend time with him. Not 'cause she cares, just... curious. Trying to figure out who he is, and why he's important. Then, without her even really noticing, it all starts to shift.

He wonders how long she's been here. Now. Whatever. Ben remembers her well enough that he saw her mugshot among his Oceanic 815 clippings, kept hold of it. Looked at it the night before he went into surgery. So... Months, at least. Could be years. 

Long enough for her to realize she had to change things. Not for herself, but for him.

Kate's green eyes bore straight into his, unflinching. She reminds him of Kurt, a little. Not just the freckles -- although Kurt gets them, sometimes, when he lets himself go into the sun for too long -- and not just the cute little nose, but the way she's solid steel underneath. Shame it had to start out like this, the two of them on opposite sides.

Then, unexpectedly, she turns to Juliet. "You did it, didn't you?" she snaps. "You brought him back."

 

*

 

_I'm doing it for him._

Once again, Ben finds himself sitting on the shore and staring out at the ocean with his son curled into his side, face tucked into his shoulder, clinging to him like his very life depended upon it. This time, however, Ben can't even pretend to be planning. He's... distracted. 

_He remembers this place and you don't, Ben._

He's known for a long time that his memories aren't coming back. He could stand and go back into the jungle right now, follow Ethan and Ana's trail to the polar bear cages, to the buildings just beyond, find Room 23, turn the entire apparatus back on -- the drums that haunt Blaine's dreams even after all these years, the pictures and the sounds and the entire experience -- and it might be awful, but it would be new. He wouldn't remember what happened. He never will. He is absolutely certain of that.

But he can't stop himself from wondering. If he could remember, even a bit of it, the way Blaine remembers, the way even Ethan remembers. If he could remember, just a little, could he help somehow? 

It _aches_ , seeing Blaine like this. There should be something he can do.

"I can hear you thinking," Blaine mumbles, breath warm through Ben's shirt.

Ben thinks about it a moment. "Can you?" he asks.

A huff that might be laughter. "Not really." And then, with a sigh, Blaine disengages; his hands loose their tight grip on Ben's waist; he peels himself away slowly, reluctantly.

Ben doesn't pull him back in. He wants to, but he doesn't. He does, however, reach out with one hand to cup his son's face, thumb smoothing over a red mark on Blaine's cheek -- he'd been holding on so tightly that one of Ben's buttons left a faint impression on him. It will fade, of course. Still, Ben likes to do what he can.

"Better?" he asks.

Blaine doesn't respond right away; he thinks about it for a few moments, then finally nods. "A little," he says, all honesty. "I think. I... I don't know. I thought I might remember... things. Just. Not like this."

 _Not like what?_ Ben doesn't ask. It's bad enough that Blaine has had to relive it all again, all these things he should never have seen. Ben's not about to stir anything up that he shouldn't. "I'm sorry," he says instead. It's not enough, but it's all he has.

"Don't be," Blaine says. It's oddly firm, the way he says it. Adult, in a way that he shouldn't be adult. Not yet. "I'm not. I wanted to save you, and I did, and... And I don't regret it. And I'd do it again tomorrow if I had to."

"I know you would," Ben says, because he knows his son too well to say _Don't you dare_ , even if it's what he wants to say. "I know."

And he doesn't tell Blaine that he'll get them off the Island before anything else can happen, because it's not a promise he can keep. All he can do is hope that Holly will come for them.

And that they'll both still be there when she does.

 

*

 

The call comes at four in the morning. 

Holly's awake, of course. She did try to sleep, sometime around midnight, when her single suitcase was packed and she'd thrown her last overripe banana away and there was nothing left to arrange, nothing to figure out, nothing to do but wait and hope. She stretched out on her futon, covered herself in blankets, and tried, but every time she closed her eyes, she found herself opening them a moment later so she could go back to staring at the ceiling and wondering. Where he was, what he was doing. If the plane had crashed. If he'd been hurt. When she'd get to see him again.

She'd never really worried about anyone before. No wonder Penny's so irritable all the time, if this is what she's been going through for the last five years. 

Hopefully, she learned how to sleep through it. She must have, right? She'd probably be dead if she hadn't. Everyone has to sleep eventually. Maybe Penny sleeps just fine these days. Maybe she's asleep right now.

But Holly hasn't been worrying about Ben for five years; she's been worrying about him for roughly three days, and this is the first day he's actually really been gone, so after about a hour or so of staring up at the ceiling wondering where Ben is and what Ben's doing and does the Island really want him alive -- it's an Island, for God's sake, so how are a bunch of humans supposed to know what it wants? -- she rolls off the futon again and goes to her closet, wraps herself up in a cardigan that she maybe stole from Ben's house a few weeks ago and has maybe held onto because maybe it still smells a little bit like his dryer sheets. Then she sits on the edge of the futon and just stares at the stains on her carpet and waits for her phone to ring.

Which it does, finally, at four in the morning.

"Tell me it's good," she says, as soon as she picks up the call.

Penny's response is quick and irritated and the best thing Holly's heard for at least three days, maybe four. "What's the earliest flight you can get?"

 

*

 

"Hey." The man from the plane, the good-looking one who helped Ben with his shoulder -- Sun thinks his name was Copper, or Cooper, or something like that -- is coming towards her. He's smiling, but there's something... He looks tired. Confused. Which he would have his reasons to be, of course. "So, um. It looks like you're in charge of the supplies? Is that what's happening?"

Sun takes a moment to survey everything laid out in front of her. It hadn't really occurred to her that she was in charge of anything. It was just... there was so much being pulled off the plane, and none of it in any sort of order. Books and deodorant, high-heeled shoes and medicine, all together in one big mess. So she started to clean it up. It was something to do, and it made her feel better.

And then people started to ask her where to put things. If she'd found things. If she needed anything. 

And now here she is.

"I suppose I am," she says. "Were you looking for anything specific? There's plenty of bug spray, fortunately. Not as much sunscreen, but..."

"Actually," Cooper says, and when Sun looks up, he's not focusing his smile at her anymore. 

Sun turns, sees two slumped figures sitting further down the beach. Ben and Blaine, huddled together and staring out at the ocean. She wonders, not for the first time, what drove them away from the Hydra Station in such a hurry, and why they seem so wounded. But then, they've been here before, and not under very pleasant circumstances. She supposes it doesn't need to be anything more than that.

"Actually," Cooper says again, his attention back on her. Even tired, his smile is remarkably charming. "I was wondering if there was any food? I mean, I'm -- My trainer wanted me to go on a diet anyway. But." His eyes shift, look past her again. "I mean, kids are supposed to eat a lot, right? So they can grow. That was what my mom used to say, anyway, when I didn't want to finish my broccoli. That if I didn't eat it I'd never grow. And then I decided that I'd just stop eating broccoli so I could stop growing so I could be Santa's elf at Macy's, but my father said that if I all I ever achieved in life was to be an elf that he'd disown me, so I started eating my broccoli again."

Sun has absolutely no idea why he's telling her this, but she feels like it would be rude not to respond. "Oh," she says.

"Yeah," Cooper says. "He still says he's going to disown me unless I make something of myself, but. I'm pretty sure he'll change his mind when I get my first Teen Choice Award." He blinks, shakes his head. Refocuses. "Sorry," he says. "I ramble, sometimes? When I'm tired. It's been a long day. Anyway, I just thought I'd take something to Blaine and Ben. So they could eat. Something."

It's a kind thought; it reminds Sun of something Hurley might do. "I'm afraid there's not much left from the in-flight meals," she says. "And I'm not sure how edible any of it is, since we don't have any ice. But we've been gathering mangoes; there's plenty. Over there." She gestures to a heap of fruit spread out on a blanket. "Obviously we'll need more than just fruit, but there's already a few people fishing, and it's possible there's wild boar here, just like --"

She cuts herself off before she can finish the sentence.

Cooper just sighs. "You too, huh? Just like Ana, and that creepy guy, and Hurley. And Ben, and Blaine... And pretty much everyone who isn't me. You've been here before."

"Not here specifically," Sun says, although that probably won't make him feel any better. "The other Island. But my husband was here, for a while. He helped build the runway we landed on."

"Really? Wow, small world. I mean..." Cooper laughs, shakes his head. "Um. Is he still here? Do you think, maybe --"

"No." Sun shakes her head, turns away for a moment. There's a duffel bag near her feet, covered in joined Ls and Vs -- Louis Vuitton. She wonders whose it was. "If he was... If he was, he would have come. So he must still be on the other Island."

There's a pause, and then Cooper says, "That's why you came back, isn't it? Because he's still here -- or, I mean, not here, but -- He's _here_ , and you wanted to bring him back." 

"That's right." Actually, that bag looks familiar. Sun wonders. Then she shakes it off, looks up at Cooper. "We have a daughter now, a daughter who's never seen her father. I don't want her to grow up without him. And I don't..." The astonishing thing is the lack of judgment in Cooper's expression; he just smiles at her, warm and genuine and surprisingly sympathetic. "I don't think I can do this without him. I need to bring him home."

Cooper rests a hand on her shoulder, pats her gently. "If there's anything I can do," he says. "I mean, we've gotta get everyone else home anyway, right? Might as well add one more to the list." Then he pulls his hand away, holds it out in front of him, pretends to write on it with one finger.

To her own surprise, Sun actually manages to laugh at that, and Cooper beams back at her, obviously pleased by the response. "Thank you," Sun says, and smiles back at him. "For offering to help. I'll keep that in mind."

"No problem," Cooper says, putting his imaginary notebook and pen away in his pocket. "And, hey, thank you. I mean, for the mangoes. Thank you." He pats her shoulder one more time, smiles at her a little longer then he waves, and turns, and walks toward the pile of fruit. 

Sun turns back to her work, still smiling. The Louis Vuitton bag catches her attention again. It really does seem familiar. Curious, Sun crouches in the sand next to it, and reaches for the luggage tag. 

 

*

 

"If she was on that plane, Chief, she's still a ways away." 

Jin doesn't even turn, keeps his eyes on the sky, where the plane's contrail is long since gone.

Sawyer steps up next to him, rests a hand on his shoulder. "And she's damn sure not up there anymore."

"I told her not to come back," Jin says, quietly. "I told her to stay."

"Yeah, well. People don't always do what you tell them to." Especially Sun, although it might not be diplomatic for Sawyer to point that out, not right now. And diplomacy isn't usually his thing, but hell, Jin's just about the closest he's got to a friend. Well, Jin and Frogurt, but Frogurt's not exactly useful in a pinch. At least Jin can hold a gun. So Sawyer keeps his mouth shut and his hand on Jin's shoulder and does his best not to fuck anything up.

Damndest thing, though, that plane coming right when Locke said it would. Like it was running on a timetable. Popping out of the sky neat as a pin, landing on that damned runway Sawyer worked so hard on. Weeks spent breaking rocks, blistering his hands and burning in the sun. Still got the callouses from it. All that, for Benjamin Linus's triumphant return.

All that to prove John Locke right.

"Seriously," he mutters. "How the hell'd he know about this?"

There's a rustle of branches, and then Richard Alpert emerges from the underbrush, pressed and clean as always. It's not the first time Sawyer's seen him do it -- just appear like that, like the Island summoned him, but he's never really gotten used to it. Never really gotten used to Richard at all. Locke knows a lot of things he shouldn't know about the Island, but there's something off about it; there's some kind of a con underneath Sawyer just hasn't figured out yet. Richard, though... Richard's the real deal.

He looks Sawyer dead in the eyes, and says, "If you ever figure it out, James, please. Let me know."

Then he passes, moving on into the jungle, vanishing like he wasn't there.

"Uh oh," Sawyer says, turning back to Jin. "Sounds like trouble in paradise to me."

But Jin's still lost in the sky, like he's waiting for Sun to come down and get him.

Hell, like this place wasn't weird enough already.

Sawyer shifts his grip down so he's holding onto Jin's arm, not his shoulder, and starts pulling him back towards the camp. "Come on," he says. "Let's see if we can take over the whole place before Locke gets back."

Honestly, though, he'd settle for knowing just what's gotten under Richard's skin. 

 

*

 

"Of course you would," Kate says, glaring at Juliet, and Kurt doesn't really like Juliet that much but he has to give her credit for this -- she doesn't even flinch. "You sold us out -- you kidnapped Claire, you sent your people to pick us off one at a time, you --"

"I saved Claire's life," Juliet shoots back, actually leaning in, the two of them face to face and both getting redder and it's weird and scary but Kurt can't even think about looking away. "I saved Claire, I saved her baby -- I saved _you_ , Kate, or don't you remember that part? When the Marshal woke up and started talking all about you, and what you did, how you --"

"And so you shot him."

The look of withering condescension that Juliet shoots in Kate's direction is almost as frightening as the fact that Kurt absolutely, totally believes that Juliet could shoot somebody. "He was going to die no matter what I did," Juliet says. "He _was_ dying, slowly and painfully, and I put him out of his misery. Which is more than I can say about what you did to Wayne."

Kate pales; she actually takes a half step back, shaking her head. "Don't you dare --"

"And you know the really interesting part?" Juliet steps in, icy calm in a way that Kurt can only dream of being someday. "When the Marshal told me what you'd done, and why you were in cuffs when he brought you to the Island? I didn't know a damn thing about you. I didn't know who Wayne was; I didn't know why you did what you did to him. For all I knew, you really were everything the Marshal said you were. I could've told the entire camp. In fact, I probably should've. But I gave you the benefit of the doubt. Shame you never extended that to me."

"Yeah, well." Kate straightens, brushes a strand of curly hair out of her face. "This is how you show you deserve it? By bringing him back?"

"I didn't --"

"It's my fault." Brittany's voice is so soft that Kurt can barely even hear her, and he's standing right next to her. But somehow, it's loud enough to get everyone's attention. "He came back to help me. It's my fault."

 

*

 

"You there?"

Santana shakes her head, blinks, and turns to look at Wes, but he's staring out the windshield at the road ahead, watching the lights whip by. It's still dark; the sun won't be up for another hour at least. 

By then, they'll be long gone.

"Sorry," he says. "You looked like you were a million miles away."

"Yeah, well." Santana goes back to staring out the window again. It's snowing -- just light, dry powder. One good thing about all this; she won't have to see snow for a while. "You know, I've lied to my parents about where I'm going dozens of times, but. Not like this."

"I've already gone over our cover with my parents," Wes says. "In detail. Trust me, they won't slip."

"That's not what I'm worried about," Santana says, and then hesitates, because she doesn't necessarily want to say this next part. But it's Wes, and Wes has had her back since basically forever, so finally she lets it slip. "What if we don't make it back?"

Wes manages to tear his eyes from the road for a couple of seconds and actually look at her. "Are you asking me because you want to talk about it? Or are you genuinely having second thoughts? Because I can drive you back if you want me to -- I worked extra time into our schedule so --"

"I'm not turning back," Santana snaps, offended, and Wes immediately turns his attention back to the road. "And I don't _do_ talking. I just..." She tilts her head back into the seat and closes her eyes. 

It's quiet for a few seconds, and then Wes finally says, "If something goes wrong. Which I don't think anything will, but if it does. My parents have already said they'll... they'll talk to your parents. I'm not sure what they'll say; I didn't ask. But. Whatever it is, it'll be the right thing."

It should be comforting. It almost is, in a weird, overly-stiff, sort of pompous Wes-type way. But just the idea of anyone having to say _the right thing_ to her parents... Santana sucks in a deep, shuddering breath and dabs carefully at her eyes with the tip of one finger.

"Santana." Wes reaches out and lays a hand over hers; it takes a minute, but finally Santana manages to look back at him. "Nothing's going to happen to you." He smiles at her. "I've always had your back. You know that."

"Yeah," she says, and does her best to smile back at him. "Yeah, I know." Then she clears her throat and adds, "And... uh. I've got yours too. You know that, right?"

Wes just grins, and goes back to staring out the windshield. But he leaves his hand over hers for a long time.

 

*

 

There's something symbolic, Ben thinks, about his son's cardigan sweater, bow tie, and button-down shirt left in a pile on the sand. Blaine is waist-deep in the water, rinsing the gel out of his hair, and Ben watches him from the shore and thinks about civilization, about all those niceties they've left behind. There is a part of him, a small, angry part at the core of him, that doesn't regret it.

But the rest of him?

He'd kill to get Blaine back to Ohio, back to showers and bedsheets and ridiculous hotel restaurants with white linen napkins and silver trays for the check. Anyone he had to kill, he'd do it. Anyone at all. Which is a good thing, really, because he knows damn well he'll have to. Just like the last time. 

Not yet. But soon.

In the meantime, there are footsteps in the sand to be dealt with.

He turns, sees Sun heading towards him, carrying a Louis Vuitton duffel over her shoulder. It's almost certainly authentic. Ben knows, because he knows who it belongs to. 

"I thought Blaine might need a change of clothes," Sun says, crossing the remaining few steps and dropping the bag at Ben's feet.

He looks down at it, looks back up at her, momentarily at a loss for words.

"When I left the Island," she continues, glancing down at the bag. She folds one hand over the other, twists absently at her wedding band. "When I left my husband. I had nothing of his to carry with me. All the time that I was gone, I wished for... something. To feel that he was with me. I thought, perhaps, it might help Blaine to have something of Kurt's. Until we find him again, of course."

"Of course," Ben repeats, absently. _Until we find him again._ It would be nice if he had some idea where they should start looking. "I... I don't suppose this happened when you first arrived on the Island. I mean, the bright light, the disappearing people..."

"Sorry," Sun says, without the faintest trace of a smile. Her eyes go to the glittering ocean spread out in front of them. 

"Hmm." Ben turns his attention to the water as well -- or, more correctly, to his son, still rinsing the last remnants of civilization off his body. There is a question Ben hasn't quite allowed himself to ask yet. What does he do if he can't find them again? Would he bring Blaine home without Kurt or Burt or Brittany? Would Blaine even let him? "It doesn't matter," he says, more to himself to Sun, although he's aware she's listening. "We'll find them. And we'll bring them home again."

"Yes." Sun says the word without a trace of doubt in her voice. Her eyes stay fixed to the water -- to the endlessly shifting blue and green -- but her hand reaches blindly out for his. After a moment of perplexity, Ben sighs and reaches back. He's not in a position to refuse human comfort right now anyway. "Yes," Sun says again. "We will."

 

*

 

It's the second time they've been at the airport in the last 24 hours, except this time, they're the ones getting on the plane.

Finn doesn't really know how to feel about it. He's glad they're going; he's glad he doesn't actually have to go back to school Monday like nothing's happened -- sit and wait and wonder and all the time act like his guts aren't trying to rip their way out of his body -- but at the same time... At the same time, he's really, really scared.

He wonders if he'd still be this scared if it wasn't for the witch lady. If it wasn't for the letter she'd given his mom last night, the one with _Carole Hudson_ on it in that familiar handwriting.

_I'm so sorry for putting you through so much pain, and I don't expect you to wait for me, and I don't expect you to forgive me because I can't forgive myself._

_Tell Finn whatever you want. I won't try to see him again if you don't want me to. He deserves better anyway. So do you._

_Just know that I never meant to hurt you. I thought you would be better without me._

_I'm so sorry._

He sniffles audibly, and his mom squeezes his hand. 

Sitting across the departures lounge, Santana glances up at him, and then almost immediately drops her eyes back down to her nail file.

"Do you think..." Finn glances around, makes sure no one else is looking at him. But Wes is actually reading, and that Michael guy is staring at his watch like he's willing it to move faster, and Miss H is in the corner, talking in whispers on the phone. She's all wrapped up in a sweater that looks like Mr. A's, and Finn suddenly wonders if they're, like, dating. It might explain some things. But he doesn't have time to think about that now, so he turns back to his mom. "Do you think he's still there? I mean, I know Mr. A said all the DHARMA people... He said that they..." And then his voice chokes up, which is weird, because he already thought his dad was dead before, but now -- "But he could be --"

"I don't know, honey." His mom sounds as sad and confused and close to tears as he does, and it's Finn's turn to squeeze her hand. "I guess we'll find out."

Wes turns a page in his book. Santana keeps filing her nails. Michael drops both hands into his lap, clasped tight together. 

Holly says, "Because I trust them, Penny!" and then looks at Finn and goes back to whispering again. 

Finn slouches lower in his seat and rests his head on his mom's shoulder.

 

*

 

The girl is crying, face crumpled and red, and the boy reaches out to hug her, shooting Kate an accusatory glare, and she didn't even _do_ anything -- 

"Ssh," the boy says, his voice higher than Kate would've expected, and where the hell did these two come from, anyway? They must've been with Juliet, but why would a pair of teenagers -- because they can't be any older than eighteen -- what could possibly possess Juliet to bring them this far, to bring them here? "It's not your fault, Brittany; no one blames you, no one thinks that --"

"I was trying to help." Brittany struggles her way free of the boy's hold, turning to look at Kate, and it takes everything Kate has to look the girl in the face. She's so... miserable. "I thought... If I could go back, if I could change things, then he wouldn't be in the paper. If he wasn't in the paper, then no one would know where he was, and if no one knew --"

Juliet sighs and shakes her head, turning back towards the girl. Amazing, how she can go from furious to gentle, like flipping a switch. "We already knew, Brittany," she says. "There was never anything you could've --"

"But I tried," Brittany insists, lower lip trembling. "If I hadn't tried, if I hadn't -- It's all my fault."

Kate really wants to know what Brittany tried, and why it's her fault, but the problem is asking. Whatever Kate might feel towards Juliet, Brittany's just a kid, and Kate doesn't want to make her feel too much worse than she already does. She needs to find some way of getting the information, carefully, thoughtfully -- 

Then the walkie at her hip crackles. "Kate! Kate, are you there?"

She grabs for it without even thinking twice, turning and walking away from the whole lot of them. Not because it's a convenient excuse to step back and catch her breath (although the more she thinks about things, the harder it is to breathe), but because if she doesn't answer immediately and correctly, someone's gonna come looking for her. And that's not going to end well for anyone. "I'm here, Phil," she says. "Everything okay?"

"No," he says. "No, it's really not. I -- Kate, I think I just caught a Hostile."

 

*

 

He doesn't entirely understand what's happening. One moment, he was on the plane -- there was turbulence, and a stewardess walking down the aisle towards him, and somewhere behind him, Ben Anderson was telling his son to stay in his seat and fasten his seatbelt, and then -- A white light, and a feeling like the entire plane was rolling over, and when he came to, he was in the jungle, alone. He'd been so disoriented that he hadn't even recognized where he was at first.

And when he did realize where he was, when he finally began to make his unsteady way towards the building to see if Mikhail was there, to see if he could tell him where to find the plane and the rest of the survivors... Well. That was when things really started to go wrong.

The closet door opens again, and the dark-haired man sticks his face in. "Head of Security's on her way," he says. "You know, you'd be better off talking to me. When she gets here... Believe me, she's not someone you want to mess with."

Sayid stays where he is -- sitting on the floor with his hands crossed in front of him -- and keeps his mouth shut. He has no idea who this man is, who he works for or why he's at the Flame, wearing one of Mikhail's old DHARMA jumpsuits. Better to risk silence than the wrong explanation. 

And, after all, he's been a captive before. 

"Suit yourself," the man says, and closes the door again.

Sayid sighs and lets his eyes slip closed.

He has no idea what's happening. 

He can only hope the others are somewhere slightly safer.

 

*

Perhaps she should have gone with Carole and the others. She's never been much for sailing, and she dislikes guns, but perhaps she could have been some use. If nothing else, it would have kept her occupied.

But something held her back; she couldn't have said exactly what at the time, but she knew there was a reason to stay behind.

And when she pulls her rental car into the driveway of Benjamin Anderson's little white house, she realizes what it is.

"Ms. Jaseem." The woman smiles at her, folds her hands in front of her. There is a manila envelope protruding from the top of her handbag.

"Ms. Hawking." Nadia doesn't smile, but she manages to keep her tone polite. "Would you like to come in for a cup of tea?"

"Thank you," Eloise says, and follows her to Benjamin's front door.

 

*

 

Finn's last texts come through at 7:04 am.

_luv u be home soon i promise_

_ill bring them back too_

_well be home soon_

_i luv u rachel_

There are a hundred things she wants to say -- _don't go, don't get hurt, please be careful, please bring them back, please don't go_ \--

But she replies with:

_I love you too_

Because she might never get to say anything to Finn again, and she knows that. And that has to be the last thing she says, because she'd never forgive herself otherwise.

He doesn't answer; probably, he's already on the plane and can't text.

She cries her eyes out for forty-five minutes exactly, and when she's done, she goes into the bathroom for a shower and a cooling cucumber mask. 

She may not be going to the Island with Finn, but she still has work to do.

 

* 

 

There is a moment, walking into the water, where he wonders what would happen if he didn't stop walking. If he kept going, so far out that the water would sweep him away. It isn't that he wants to -- he wants a lot of things, none of which involve dying. But he wonders what the Island would do if he tried.

There's not much use in wondering, of course. He's seen what the Island can do to people. What it did to his father, what it could do to Kurt... The best thing he can do is try to figure out what it wants from him and just hope that it'll let him go when he's done. 

In the meantime, there's no point in pretending he'll be free any time soon. 

He stays where the water is shallow ( _some places, it's almost golden -- the places where it's shallow, because it's so clear and you can see all the way down_ ), and rinses the gel out of his hair, and when he's as clean as he's going to get, he makes his way carefully to shore, where his father has laid out clothing for him. A blue t-shirt with pictures of sunglasses printed on it, and a pair of plaid shorts. 

Kurt's shorts. The ones he wore to Dalton when he came as a spy, so long ago now.

There's a Louis Vuitton duffel bag nearby; Kurt's, of course. It's open, and Blaine can see something yellow and fuzzy inside. Vincent. Kurt brought Vincent to the Island, and now Kurt's alone, and he doesn't even have --

His breath catches in his throat.

"Sun brought them," his father says, hastily. "If you want, Blaine -- I could go and find your bag... Or Cooper; I'm sure he'd be happy to help if you don't want me to --"

"This is fine," Blaine says, swallowing hard. Because it's not, of course it's not, but he needs this. This reminder of what he's working for, what he needs to do.

He has to get Kurt back somehow. Whatever it takes, whatever the Island wants from him... He has to do it.

"This is fine," he says again, and reaches out and pulls Kurt's shirt over his own head.

Whatever it takes.

 

*

 

It could've worked. If Juliet had had five more minutes; if she'd been able to introduce Brittany to Kate, explain the situation...

But now Kate's a disappearing cloud of dust, and they're right back where they started.

"Well," she says, because regardless of how she's feeling right now, _defeatist_ has never suited her. Like it or not, survival is what she's best at. "That could've gone better" 

Brittany sniffles quietly. Then she takes a deep breath, slips her hand into Kurt's, and says, "It doesn't matter," her voice still a little wobbly. "It doesn't... I thought I could change things, but I couldn't. We can't... We're just variables, now."

Kurt looks at Brittany; Burt looks at the both of them. Rose and Bernard look at each other. And that's all they do, look. No one says anything, no one asks, so finally, Juliet does it herself.

"But that's a good thing, isn't it?" she asks. "Being a variable -- you can influence things, you can --"

Brittany just shakes her head. "That's science, maybe," she says. "But this is physics, and physics is math, and math is... It's like x. X, by itself, could be anything. But when you look at x when it's in a problem, then it has to be only one thing. It can't change the problem to suit itself. The problem changes the variable."

"So the question is," Burt says, staring off at the cloud of dust that Kate's Jeep has left behind, "how exactly is this problem going to change us?"

Brittany doesn't answer that.

No one else does either.


	2. The Problem

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Between the refugees from the future, the Hostile at the Flame, and the fight to save Ben Linus, Kate's got more problems than she knows what to do with. Ana Lucia's got just as many, but the only one she's really worried about right now goes by the name of John Locke.

It's one thing to drive away. It's another thing entirely to put the conversation behind her, to stop thinking about it.

_But I tried. If I hadn't tried, if I hadn't -- It's all my fault._

Burt had said that Ben was a teacher, and Brittany's young enough to be his student, maybe. Kate wouldn't have risked so much as a hangnail to save any of her teachers, but she can see how Ben would be different. He's good with younger kids, gentle. Patient. If Brittany doesn't have a lot of other adults around that she can count on, that could explain the _why_ of it.

But the _what_ and the _how_ are harder to figure out.

_If I could go back, if I could change things --_

The problem isn't that Kate doesn't know what that could mean. The problem is that she does. Because she's gone back, too. She's in a position to change things. Six hours ago, she was planning on it. Rescuing Ben from his father, keeping him as part of the DHARMA Initiative, rewriting everything to keep him safe. Just like Brittany did.

_If I hadn't tried --_

It's not the first time she's wondered if she can really change things. If she should change things. But after seeing Brittany breaking down, blaming herself...

_It's all my fault._

The stakes seemed a lot lower when failure was just a hypothetical.

And now, on top of everything, there's a Hostile at the Flame. And if Kate doesn't act quickly, decisively, and correctly, the whole Truce is going to go to hell in a handbasket. And while open war with the Hostiles might at least stop Roger Linus from giving them his son -- At least Kate knows that he'll survive his time with the Hostiles. If there's a war... 

She doesn't know what'll happen then. 

But then she pulls into the clearing where the Flame is located, just a shabby cottage with an enormous radio tower and a satellite dish off to one side, and she stops wondering. She's got a job to do.

When she's done it, then she'll go back and get some answers. 

But the job comes first.

 

*

 

She sends Hurley and the new guy, the hot one, off after Ben and Blaine. Partially to keep an eye on things -- neither of them looks like much of a fighter, but at least they can yell out if they see something, and hopefully Ben can take care of the rest. He is injured, of course, but then he was in a wheelchair the day she met him and he still managed to knock Ethan off his feet. And Ethan's not a little guy, either. Between the four of them, they should be pretty okay.

Besides, she's got some things to ask Ethan. She's not expecting much of an answer -- maybe something cryptic and spooky, if she's really lucky -- but she knows damn well she won't get anything if there's an audience. If it's just the two of them, though...

"Good of you to make sure they had bodyguards, Ana," Ethan says. He's watching her, his weird craggy face impassive. "I have to say, I had no idea you cared."

"Yeah, well. That makes two of us." She's still not entirely over the way he'd stepped in just as the kid started to panic, the look on his face, _I'm doing it for him_ , he'd said, and Ana'd believed him. Maybe more important, Ben had believed him, too. There's something between the two of them, something Ana can't quite figure out, but it could be a way in, if she plays it carefully. "Out of curiosity?" she adds. "Did you know this was gonna happen? The kid having weird flashbacks and everything. Is that why you were following us?"

Ethan just shrugs. "It's an interesting theory," he says. "Of course, there are others. I'm sure you remember seeing John Locke the last time you were here. He spent quite a lot of time inspecting the runway project. Very interested in that, as I recall."

"You think he's here," Ana says, hand on her hip. It'd be nice if there was a gun there, something she could hold in her hand, feel the weight of. She doesn't really think Ethan's going to hurt her, but then Ethan's not the one she's worried about.

"Don't you?" Ethan asks. "Since you sent Hugo and Cooper off to play bodyguard. You must have been worried about something."

"I'm worried about a lot of things," Ana says, honestly, and earns a twist of the lip that, coming from Ethan, might almost be a smile. She lets him have his moment; after all, he's probably right. Locke's fixated on Ben Linus, for whatever reason, and patience isn't one of his virtues. If he's not here, he's on his way. Fast.

Ana looks around, takes it in -- familiar, after all her time here. The bend in the trail that leads to the main Hydra Station, the polar bear cages where she was kept, the buildings that none of them ever went inside. Just Ethan. And Locke.

"You didn't even know we were coming this way," she says, and doesn't mention that he probably saw them before they were halfway down the trail, and chose to stick with them instead of making directly for the buildings. "You weren't here for Blaine at all. You're looking for Locke."

"Not exactly," Ethan says. "If he's been here, which he almost certainly has been, I doubt he stayed long. Buildings aren't really his native habitat. But he'll have left signs of his passing. If we find those... Well. At least we'll know to be careful."

It's not often that Ana gets to talk to someone who's more pessimistic than she is. It's strangely comforting. "And if he hasn't been here?" she asks, just for the sake of asking.

The smile she gets this time is wider, and therefore creepier. The kind of smile that gives babies nightmares. "If Locke hasn't been here, then presumably the armory should still be fully stocked."

And that is the kind of optimism Ana can get behind. "Guess there's only one way to find out," she says, and pushes past Ethan, heading up the trail towards the massive bulk of the Hydra station. She doesn't hear Ethan following behind her -- he's sneaky like that -- but she knows he's there all the same. 

It's weirdly comforting in it's own way.

 

*

 

For a long time, there's nothing but the sounds of his captor pacing back and forth outside the closet door, occasionally muttering to himself -- the sound too muffled for Sayid to pick out what he's saying. Sayid waits, closes his eyes and breathes. Doesn't let himself panic. 

Then he hears what might be tires outside. What is probably the sound of a slamming door. What is definitely another voice just outside his closet. And he doesn't panic, quite, but his eyes open -- his heart beats faster, his breath quickens. 

But he waits. 

The door swings open. Silhouetted against the daylight, he sees a figure in a loose DHARMA jumpsuit. Familiar, somehow, but in the sudden switch from dark to light, he can't make out the features, can't place the person until --

"Sayid?" she asks, and takes a step inside.

Sayid's throat tightens up unexpectedly, and it's all he can do to answer back, "Kate?"

There's a silence, and then Sayid's captor says, "Uh... You know this guy?"

"Yeah," Kate says, quickly, glancing over her shoulder at the man behind her. "Yeah, he... He was a translator. I met him back when I was working with Charlotte -- we were doing a dig in... in..."

"Tikrit," Sayid finishes, quickly. He has no idea why Kate is lying to this man; why she's not telling him who Sayid really is or how they came to meet, but he doubts the truth would serve either of them right now. The best he can do is try to shore up her story in whatever small ways he can. 

"That's right," Kate says, her eyes scanning his face. "But that was years ago. I haven't seen you for... How did you get here, Sayid?"

There is no time to think of a lie. The truth, as little of it as he can get away with, will have to suffice. "I was on a flight to Guam," he says. "We hit turbulence. I..." But a plane crash wouldn't explain why he was in the middle of the jungle, with no wreckage in sight. He takes a deep breath, utters a silent prayer, and says, "The last thing I remember is a very bright white light. And then I woke up in the jungle. At least, I think I woke up. I suppose there's still some doubt."

He looks at Kate, and then at the man behind her. Strangely, he doesn't seem confused or surprised. In fact, he almost looks as though he's figuring something out.

"You don't think --" he says, dropping his eyes to Kate.

Kate turns and looks back at him. "Call Radzinsky," she says, in the tone of voice of someone who's used to being obeyed. "I want to know what's happening down at the Swan, and I want to know right now." 

Sayid's captor turns away immediately, hurrying out of view.

Kate kneels down in front of Sayid, pulling a knife out to cut his hands free of their bonds. "It's gonna be okay, Sayid," she tells him, smiling even as her eyes stay fixed on the knife, on the work her hands are doing. "I'm gonna take care of this, and you're going to be just fine. All right?"

She's still lying, of course, but Sayid can't contradict her under the circumstances. All he can say is "Thank you," and let her lead him out of his makeshift cell into the Flame proper. 

If he's exceptionally lucky, maybe there will be a moment or two, later, when he can actually get some answers from her.

 

*

 

"Can I ask you something?"

Hurley still doesn't totally know what to make of Cooper. He seems nice enough, sort of, maybe, but then maybe he's a little too nice. Like, he helped Ben with his shoulder thing, and that was pretty cool of him, and he was there with them when they went to the buildings, and he helped Hurley bodyguard them on the way back, and he brought them food, and that was all cool of him. Except Hurley's not totally sure why he's doing it. Obviously, Hurley did a lot of stuff like that too, his first plane crash, so he probably shouldn't be weird about it. But it's just...

It's weird. 

Except everything's weirder, this time around, because Hurley's expecting it to be weird, so he's probably just expecting Cooper to be weird, too.

Except what if he's not?

"Uh, yeah," Hurley says, eventually, because he figures he might as well. "Sure. Go for it."

"Are you and your dad close?"

It's not totally what Hurley was expecting. He watches Cooper, for a little while, but all he does is stare at Ben, who's staring at Blaine, who's in the ocean washing the gel out of his hair. And the thing is, just from the look on Cooper's face, he kind of already knows what Cooper's answer would be. If Hurley would have asked him. Which he hasn't.

But since Hurley knows Cooper's answer anyway, despite not asking, he figures he might as well answer too. "Not really," Hurley says. "I mean, I dunno. We were, when I was a kid, but then he left. And he was gone for a really long time. And then I sort of won the lotto, and so he came back, but I never really figured it was for me, you know? And, like, the last time I was home, I kind of couldn't see him, because of some other stuff, so... So I don't really know. I miss him, but... it kind of feels like maybe everything sort of ended when he left. So I guess we're not. Close, I mean."

Cooper nods; he keeps his eyes on Ben. "Yeah," he says. "I guess I'm not close with my dad, either. Or... I mean, I wanted to be. I still want to be, if we ever get home. But sometimes, I think he doesn't want it. So. We're not close, really."

"That sucks, dude," Hurley says. And it's true. Even if Cooper's like a secret villain, because lots of villains have dad problems, and it's still sad, even if they're evil. "I'm sorry."

"Yeah," Cooper says, and turns, and looks at Hurley. "Yeah, me too. I mean, about you and your dad, and the money, and whatever. Not about my dad. Although. I mean, I guess. That too."

Hurley reaches out and pats Cooper on the shoulder. He really hopes Cooper's actually just a nice guy, because he thinks maybe, if he is, they could be friends. "It's cool, dude," he says. "I get it." 

"Okay," Cooper says. "Okay, yeah, good." Then he goes back to staring out at the beach. Blaine's coming back out of the water now. He's walking better -- Hurley noticed it a while back. He wonders if the Island fixed him, the way it fixed Locke. If it fixed Blaine's dad, too -- his back, obviously, not his arm. He wonders if that's making things better for Ben and Blaine, or if it's making them worse. "Just..." Cooper sighs, leans back on his elbows. "I don't know. What you were saying, about Blaine being psychic and saving his dad and everything. I mean, obviously I never had to do that. Which is good, because I don't think I'm psychic, so I probably couldn't, anyway. But, you know, I was thinking about it, and if I could do it, and if I would do it, and I just felt like... Like if I had, my dad would've been pissed at me. For not coming sooner. And probably something about my hair."

All Hurley can say to that is, "Huh." 

Cooper doesn't seem to mind, or maybe even notice; he just watches Ben wrap his son up in an airline blanket, drying him off as best he can.

"So," Hurley says, finally. "Is that why you're, like, helping them? Because Ben's like, what your dad should've been like, or something?"

Cooper gives him the most bewildered look imaginable. "I'm helping them because that's what people do," he says. "You know, in airplane crashes, or natural disasters, or _Titanic_. Disaster movies. In general. Like, even the guy at the beginning of the movie who says he's only in it for himself dies nobly for someone else in the last half hour. Unless the hero dies, in which case he has to become the hero and save the girl and the children and the dog. Either way, he gets to atone for his past sins and become a better person. But I haven't killed anyone, or anything, so I can't really play that part." He sort of thinks about it a little bit, and then adds, "Besides, I mean, someone had to do something. On the plane, when Blaine was freaking out. Or he would've died. And then Ben dislocated his shoulder and everything, and I had to help with that. Stopping now would just be... weird."

"Huh," Hurley says again. Then he pats Cooper on the shoulder, and says, "You know, you're pretty cool."

"Thanks," Cooper says, and gives him a quick grin. "You too."

Then he goes back to watching Ben and Blaine again, but at least now it seems a little less ominous than it did before.

Not entirely not-ominous, but still. Less so.

 

*

 

It takes a long time to get Sayid out from under Phil's nose -- too long, but she has to be cautious. There's a lot riding on this, more now than before. She has to stay with the DHARMA Inititative, has to stay with Ben, has to --

It comes back, unbidden, from the corner of her mind where she'd stuffed it out of sight. _It says here that you're supposed to raise him. Do you know what that means?_

She didn't, then. 

She might have an idea now.

"Kate," Sayid says, soft and urgent as she starts the engine. "I don't understand. Where -- When --"

He'll get his answers. Later. Sometime. Right now, her questions come first.

"Forget that," she says, glancing at him out of the corner of her eye. "Right now, I need you to tell me everything you know about Benjamin Linus."

He looks at her for a long time, and something in his face shifts. He's trusted her so far, but now he's questioning that choice. Which could be good or could be bad, depending. "It's not Benjamin Linus anymore," he says, carefully neutral. "Both Ben and his son are going by the name of Anderson now."

Kate swallows hard around something unexpected, forces herself to go back to staring out the windshield. "He has a son?" she asks, and can't quite keep the emotion out of her voice. 

Honestly, she's not sure why it's a surprise. Ben's always been good with younger kids. Watching him, she'd always wonder what he'd be like when he grew up, if he ever became a daddy. If maybe he and Annie had kids together, if he'd raise them well. 

Somehow, she'd never thought it'd actually come to pass. Maybe she gave up sooner than she thought.

"You didn't know that." Sayid seems a little startled by that. But then, he was with the Others a long time. She had a thirty second chat with Locke while everything was going to hell in a handbasket. He actually got the full dog and pony show. Maybe he just assumed that was the story everyone knew. 

"Locke told me that everything would be better when Benjamin Linus came back to the Island," she explains, as curtly as possible. "Never told me anything else. I wanna know more."

In her peripheral vision, she can see Sayid shake his head, dark curls bouncing. "With all due respect," he says, "I don't think John Locke is a very good source of information on someone he's never met."

There's something in that, something Kate can use. "But you've met Ben," she says.

"I have," Sayid says, slow, careful. Drawing it out. He's gotten cagier and cagier since she mentioned Locke. 

It could be a good sign. Maybe.

"Then you're a better source than he is," Kate says. "So tell me what Locke never could. Tell me about Benjamin Anderson."

She takes her eyes off the dirt road for a full three seconds, looking straight into Sayid's eyes. 

Finally, he sighs. "All right," he says. "I'll tell you what I can."

Kate turns her eyes back to the road, but keeps her attention on Sayid as he finally starts the story.

 

*

 

It turns out luck isn't exactly on their side.

To be fair, Ana probably should've figured that from the start. Locke's been five steps ahead of everyone since the moment Ana met him. No reason to expect him to fall off his game now, not when he's this close to winning. And it's not like Ethan ever suggested otherwise.

It's just... It's frustrating, is what it is. She's known a lot of guys like him, and watched the world fall right into their laps without them having to lift a finger, and it never gets easier. And those guys, most of them, weren't doing any real harm. But Locke...

"How is he doing this?" she snaps, and Ethan stops rummaging through desk drawers, looks at her.

"Because the Island chose him," he says, simply, and then goes back to work, pulling out notebook after notebook, all with the DHARMA logo on them in stark black. There's a good pile of them on the desk by the time Ana realizes the punchline isn't coming.

"You're not kidding," she says, and it's hard to tell from this angle, but she'd swear he rolls his eyes at that. 

"Someone had to bring Ben back," he points out, eyes still on the drawer he's been cleaning out. He reaches in, pries at something with his fingertips. Frowns. "I obviously wasn't going to do it. Not that I was ever asked to, of course, but even I had been. But Locke... Locke would do anything as long as you told him he was the only one who could. So he came in and he kicked me out. Could I borrow your knife, please?"

Ana's digging out of her pocket and passing it over before she's thought to wonder how he knew it was there in the first place. "Back up a second," she says, as he flips the knife open and starts digging at the drawer with the tip of the blade. "When you said you weren't asked to get Ben back. I thought you were the Leader. So who --"

Ethan looks up at her again, just for a moment. "Everyone answers to someone," he says, and then turns his attention back to his work. There's a _pop_ , and Ethan lifts a piece of plywood out of the drawer. A false bottom. "Ah," he says, and smiles.

"Don't tell me Locke missed something," Ana says, leaning in, trying to see.

Ethan passes the knife back to her without looking up, still hunched over the drawer. Then he settles back on his haunches, looks up at her. There's a pistol in his hands.

"No ammo except for what's in the magazine, unfortunately," he says, sliding the mag out and looking it over. He racks the slide, gives the barrel a once-over, and then lets it slip shut again, pushing the mag back in until it clicks into place. Satisfied, he takes the gun by the barrel and holds it out to Ana. "Ten shots. Make them count."

It's not too different from her old backup piece, actually. 9mm, light, easy to conceal. Comfortable in the hand. She turns away from Ethan, aims the gun at the wall, squints through the iron sights. "There one in there for you?" she asks, lowering the gun and stuffing it down the back of her pants. A holster'd be better, but that's probably too much to ask.

"Just that one," Ethan says, and pushes up to his feet. "Figured everyone'd be happier if you were the one to have it, and not me. Unless that's a problem."

"Hell no." When Ethan makes to get out from behind the desk, Ana leans against it, blocking him in place. "One more question, though," she says. 

Ethan could get around her. He could probably even knock her down and step over her if he wanted to. Instead, he just stares down at her and waits.

"If the Island wants Ben that badly," she says. "If it's already kicked you out once over it. Why are you still trying to get him out of here and back home?"

She's expecting a joke, or at best something cryptic. Instead, Ethan sighs, shrugs, looks at the wall. For just a second, he looks like a kid. An overgrown, ugly kid, maybe, but still. "Sometimes," he says, softly. "Sometimes the Island wants the wrong thing. "

He dodges sideways, steps around her and towards the door, leaving Ana to follow behind him.

 

*

 

It's a quiet day. Of course, most of them are. Little problems here and there -- Radzinsky being an ass, Roger drinking, that guy from Security with the handlebar mustache who Shannon's pretty sure is cultivating weed down by the sonic fence... Small things, small-town things. But the Truce is holding; the Hostiles are at bay, and for the most part, life is pretty good.

Quiet.

Right up until the moment she hears a knock on her door, and finds Kate waiting for her outside.

There's a man with her -- dark curly hair, dark eyes. Familiar, but she can't place it, not until he says her name.

"Shannon?"

She blinks at him, and it comes back to her -- standing on the mountainside, listening to the walkie-talkie. When John found the caves, and they had to decide whether to go or stay. When Claire went missing, and everyone left to find her. "Sayid," she says, so stunned she's almost breathless with it. "How did you -- How long have you --"

She looks over at Kate, but Kate just shakes her head, looking grim. "I've gotta find Horace," she says. "Sayid can fill you in."

And she lets go of Sayid's arm, and turns, and hurries away, leaving Shannon standing at her front door, staring at someone she never thought she'd see again. 

"I --" Then she shakes her head, stands aside. "Won't you come in," she says, politeness reasserting itself.

"Thank you," Sayid says, looking as shellshocked as she feels, and stepping inside.

Shannon looks outside before she closes the door behind him, but no one's watching. At least, no one she can see.

"Kate said," Sayid says, slowly, looking around the foyer as if getting his bearings, "that Charlie lived with you. Is he here?"

His eyes settle on a picture on the wall, one they took just the other day, Ben's birthday. Ben's at the piano, Charlie sitting next to him, the two of them absorbed in what they're doing. Shannon couldn't find the right frame for it, so she decided not to bother, just tacked it up. Charlie's been teasing her about it ever since. 

There's something very strange about the way Sayid's looking at it, something Shannon doesn't really like.

"No," she says, because she may not like the way Sayid's looking at that picture, but something about her still trusts him. Also, there's a shotgun stashed in the hall closet and she knows she can get to it before he gets to her. "Ben actually showed up for piano lessons today. They're in the rec center."

"And by Ben," Sayid says, his voice very strained, and Shannon reaches out and puts one hand on the closet door, just in case. "I suppose you mean Benjamin Linus."

Every inch of Shannon's body goes cold. Sayid was taken by the Others before... Before Ethan did whatever he did. Maybe, when they traveled back in time, he stayed with them. Maybe he's been with them all along. "Why are you here, Sayid?" she asks.

Then Sayid turns, and the expression on his face is so gentle, and so sad, that it actually makes everything that much worse. "It's a long story," he says, quietly. "Perhaps you'd better sit down."

 

*

 

There's a long, uneasy pause between the time Kate knocks on the door and the first sign of life from inside, a pause Kate tries to fill by frantically coming up with answers to every possible question Horace might have for her. Ninety percent of those answers are "You're the scientist, Horace. Not me," which is far from good enough (but hopefully will carry her at least a little ways), but it doesn't matter anyway. When the door finally swings open, Horace isn't the person behind it. 

It's Amy, one hand to the small of her back, strain lines on her face, still smiling. "Well, hello Kate," she says. She sounds tired, but then, Kate figures nine months of pregnancy will do that to a person. "Something I can help you with?"

"Actually," Kate says, forcing a smile back. Whatever's going on with her, it's not Amy's problem, and she shouldn't have to deal with it. "I needed to ask Horace about something. Is he around?"

"Sorry." Amy shakes her head. "There was... ah..." Her smile tightens, and she has to take a deep breath before she can continue. "That new project of his, out on Hydra Island. He's been there all day, working on..." Amy closes her eyes. Another deep breath in and out through her nose. "I'm not really sure when he'll be back, to be honest. Why, is something --" Again, the pause, the sucked-in breath. Harsher this time. "Is everything okay?"

"Fine," Kate says, although it's probably the worst lie she's ever told, and not just because of the whole situation with Juliet and Burt Hummel and Brittany and Sayid. Something's wrong. With Amy. "Are you... Are you feeling okay, Amy?"

"Hmm." Amy laughs softly under her breath, and runs a hand over her swollen belly. "You mean apart from the..." Pause. Breathe. "The little field-goal kicker trying to get out of me so he can go play?" She shakes her head. Still smiling. "It's been a long pregnancy, let's put it that way." Lines between her eyebrows, creases at the corner of her eyes. Breathe. "Actually, I was wondering if I could get a favor from you. There's the sub, coming in tomorrow? I'm supposed to be running intake, but I..."

Her face tightens. She rubs her belly. She breathes.

"Yeah, sure," Kate says. She doesn't actually have the time to run intake, not with everything else, but she's not going to make Amy do anything when she's struggling like this. Besides, it could be an opportunity, maybe. If she can talk Burt Hummel into helping Ben -- he said they were friends, after all. If she can make him see that they can change things, then -- "Of course. Of course I can help."

Amy gives her a wide smile. "Great," she says, and turns into the house. Kate follows her in. "Let me just get you the manifest, so you can..." Pause. Breathe. "There were a couple dropouts at the last minute, people who didn't want to take the sedative, but I've got them..." Pause. Breathe. "It should be..."

And she breathes, and she breathes, and she breathes, and Kate watches the line of her shoulders rising and falling and realizes that something is very, very wrong here.

"Amy?" she asks. "Is everything all right?"

And Amy breathes, and breathes, and finally she says, "No."

*

It's late when she gets back, her newly acquired Ruger 9mm riding at the small of her back. Ethan made himself scarce once they hit the beach, no explanations, just disappearing into the scrub brush without a word. Ana let him go. She'd gotten more from him than she would've expected, probably more than he expected, and now he needs a moment or two to get himself together. She's all right with that.

It's a strange feeling, really, something almost like trust. Bad times make strange bedfellows, or something like that.

So it almost makes sense that, when Ana finally spots Ben and his son, they're huddled around a campfire with Sun and Frank Lapidus, a little apart from everyone else. Lapidus doesn't look happy, so whatever they're talking about, it's got something to do with his employer.

"My problem is," he says, as Ana settles down next to Sun, "unless your girlfriend's got an army, Mr. Anderson? She's no match for Widmore's people. I'm talking ex-military, ex-mercenaries -- hard-core killers. Unless by some miracle she manages to get here before they do, which I really doubt, she's walking straight into a trap."

"Holly's been briefed on Widmore's capabilities," Ben says, although there's a tightening of his jaw that suggests he's not as calm as he's trying to look. "I'm not as concerned about her right now as I am about all of them." He gestures back at the beach, at the other groups of people gathered in knots and clumps around campfires of their own. "They have no idea who Charles Widmore is, or what he's capable of. Probably they'll think he's come to _rescue_ them." 

The amount of venom Ben manages to pour into those two words is frankly alarming. Of course, it's not like he's wrong either. 

Frank turns to Ana. "You and that creepy guy, Ethan," he says. "You went out to those buildings in the jungle. What do you think? Good place to hide?"

Ana looks to Ben again; he just shakes his head.

"Believe me," he says, "Charles is well aware of the existence of the Hydra Station." 

Blaine scoots closer to him, both hands wrapped around his father's arm, like he's trying to hold him in place. He's washed the gel out of his hair, put glasses on; he's borrowed a t-shirt and shorts from someone and looks about five years younger than he did in his private school uniform. He looks like a kid, and that bothers Ana a lot more than it should.

Especially considering what she's about to say.

"And Widmore's not the only one who knows about the station." She keeps her eyes on the fire flickering in front of her, tries not to look at Blaine. "When Ethan and I were there... Someone's already gone through the buildings, cleared out anything useful. And I'm pretty sure that person is still on the island, somewhere. Watching us."

"And by 'that person'," Ben says softly, more resigned than angry. "I'm assuming you mean John Locke."

"I can't prove it," Ana says, because she's still a cop, in the end, and assumptions aren't part of her job. "But yeah. Pretty sure it's him."

Blaine buries his face in his father's shirt.

 

*

 

Kate stays gone for a long time, longer than Kurt might've imagined. Rose and Bernard are worried; they try not to show it, but they are. It's the little looks they give each other, the times they murmur in each other's ears.

They're good hosts, at least. They feed everyone, bring out blankets so Brittany can have a place to sleep. Kurt's dad tells him to rest, too, but he can't. They've traveled back in time thirty years and no one knows where Ben and Blaine are or what's happening to them and Brittany was supposed to see someone named Daniel but no one here is named Daniel and what if he's still in the future and they're in the past and Kurt just -- Everything is wrong, and Kurt has to _do_ something about that. He just doesn't know what.

Then, sometime probably close to midnight (although his watch stopped working when he dove into that pool and even if he'd taken it off first, it's not like he really knows what time zone it is), he hears the rumble of an engine, tires rolling along rough ground. Headlights flood the camp, and it should be scary and it sort of is, but Kurt can't help but feel at least a little relieved. Better a fear he can look in the face than something that's just sort of... out there. Waiting.

Brittany stirs, and Kurt lays a hand on her shoulder. "Stay here," he says. "It'll be okay."

She's sitting up as he leaves her and goes to stand beside his father.

The Jeep's brakes squeal as she's slammed to a stop, engine still running. The door is flung open and someone hops out, hurries toward them. They're silhouetted by the headlights; Kurt can't see who it is, but he knows it isn't Kate. Her hair's too short, too straight. She doesn't move right.

Then she speaks, and he knows for sure. "Juliet!" the woman calls. "Where is she? Where's Juliet?"

"I'm right here," Juliet says, brushing past Kurt as she steps forward. He reaches out instinctively to hold onto her wrist; she blinks at him, but doesn't pull away. "Hello, Shannon," she adds. "I was wondering who else was here."

The woman steps closer, but not close enough for Kurt to make out much about her. Just that she has blonde, straight hair, and something about her body language is off. She's not mad, not exactly. More like she's scared. "Kate said you told her that you delivered Sun's baby," Shannon says. "Off the Island. Is that true? You delivered the baby, and everything was okay."

"Yes," Juliet says; she sounds puzzled. "It was a girl. Is Sun here? Is she -- is that why --"

"You're coming with me." Shannon grabs Juliet's free hand and yanks; Kurt stumbles along with them for a step or two before he even thinks to dig his heels in. Even then, it takes all he's got to stop them just long enough for his dad to step in and put both hands on Juliet's shoulders, fixing her in place.

"Now hold on a minute," his dad says, drowning out Rose and Bernard's quiet protests. "I don't know who you are, or what you want, but you're not taking this woman anywhere until I get some damn answers."

Shannon just glares at his dad, hand tightening around Juliet's wrist. "There is a woman, right now, who will die unless someone who knows what they're doing comes and delivers her baby," she says. "Juliet knows what she's doing. She's coming with me. And that's all the answer you get."

She pulls again; Kurt and his dad hold fast. 

"Mr. Hummel," Juliet says, turning to look back at his father, and then at him. "Kurt. It's all right. If someone needs me, then... Then I want to help." She turns back to Shannon. "Where is she, and what kind of supplies do we need? There's not much here, but if we have to, I'm sure Rose and Bernard could --"

"She's in the medical station, at the Barracks. We've got everything we need, except the doctor. I mean, we have a doctor, but he's useless, he says he can't -- So we need you. Like, yesterday." 

This time, when Shannon starts pulling, Kurt's dad lets go. Kurt doesn't. He's not totally sure why. But he wanted to do something, to help something, and this is _something_ , so maybe that's enough.

"Kurt," Juliet says again, turning to look at him. "It's all right. I'll be fine."

"Yeah," Kurt says, and doesn't let go. "You will be. Because I'm coming with you, and I'm gonna make sure of it."

"Kurt," his dad says, behind them. Kurt doesn't turn around. Which is awful, but he can't just sit there, watching Brittany sleep and being scared and not having anything to distract himself with. Besides, for all he knows, there's no woman and no baby. For all he knows, Shannon's some friend of Juliet's from before, and they've got this whole thing cooked up between them for... something. All he really knows is that he doesn't trust either of them, and he has to keep an eye on them.

Shannon gives him a look; it's not nearly as withering as Juliet's, though, and he doesn't flinch. "What are you, twelve?" she asks. Then she shakes her head, and lets go of Juliet. "Fine," she says. "You want to come along, be my guest. But we're going. Now."

"Kurt," his dad says again, and this time, Kurt turns back. "Are you crazy? You can't --"

Then Brittany steps up beside Kurt's father, slips her hand into his. Her eyes are on Kurt, though, and she nods. Like she knows what is going to happen, and she thinks it'll be okay. Which maybe she does. She did build a time machine.

"Stay with Brittany," Kurt says. "Keep an eye on her. I'll be fine. I -- I'll be fine."

His dad looks at him for a long time, then eyes Brittany suspiciously, then turns back to Kurt. Finally, he sighs and says, "All right, I don't care when we are or what kind of paradox it causes -- if anything happens to my son, I'm burning the whole damned Island down and I'm starting at the Barracks. Got that?"

"Yeah, great, whatever." Shannon flips her hair over her shoulder, opens the driver's side door. "I'll make sure to let everyone know how dangerous you are. Just as soon as Amy's okay again."

She slams the door behind her with a bang that almost makes Kurt flinch, except for that his dad is watching and he can't.

"Be careful," his dad says, and he's scared, and for just a moment, Kurt almost changes his mind. But he just... He can't. He has to do something. and this is all he has.

So he just nods, and climbs up in the Jeep next to Juliet.

"Out of curiosity?" Juliet asks, as he swings the door shut. "Why are you doing this?"

"Because it's something Mr. Anderson would do," Kurt says, and lifts his chin. It's true, or close to true, anyway. 

Juliet's answer, whatever it might be, is lost in the lurch of the Jeep being thrown into reverse and the roar of the engine as Shannon pulls them back away from the camp. 

Kurt barely even has a chance to wave at his father before he's out of sight.


	3. Le Petit Prince

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A little over three years ago (and roughly thirty years from today), Kate Austen helped a man named Ethan Goodspeed make his way to the Orchid. Not even twenty-four hours later, she saved a woman named Amy from two men with guns.
> 
> Until today, she never thought those two things were connected.
> 
> Maybe the question isn't whether or not she can change things, but who she'll have to hurt to make that happen, and whether it's worth it.

_earlier_

 

He can see the moment that the dam finally breaks, when Blaine can't keep holding the memories back any longer and they wash over him, swamping him. He stops dead in the middle of the path, gripping his father's hand like a lifeline.

But Ben keeps moving until Blaine's grip pulls him back. Only then does he turn around, blinking owlishly at his son. "Blaine? Blaine, is something wrong?"

"You don't remember this place." Blaine's voice is shaking; Ethan has to wonder what it is he's seeing, what particular moment in Ben's life he's reliving. It's obviously not something very nice, but that doesn't exactly narrow it down.

Ben's eyebrows draw together; he frowns, steps back towards Blaine a little. He's irritated, frustrated. He obviously has no idea what's going on. "Well, it's been a decade, Blaine; I don't suppose I'll recognize every single tree, but I --"

"No." 

That catches Ben's attention; that pain in Blaine's voice. His eyes widen, mouth opening slightly. He used to look at Ethan that way, once.

_"Ethan," he says, softly. Then, "Again?"_

"You don't remember. You don't remember anything. At all." It's interesting, how Blaine can contradict his father without being defiant -- or, maybe, the interesting thing is that Ben recognizes the tone of his son's voice, that he's not trying to be difficult, that he's honestly just frightened. Not many parents are capable of that.

Or maybe what's most interesting is how the tremble of Blaine's voice sparks an answering fear in his father -- how quickly it comes, how easily it settles in, deep in the lines of Ben's face. But then, Ben always did hate being helpless.

"You don't remember," Blaine says again.

"Blaine --" his father says, stepping in close, laying a hand on Blaine's shoulder. "What is it? What's wrong?"

_"I can't help you unless you tell me what's wrong, Ethan."_

_But what is he supposed to say, exactly? That his father shows him pictures? That the pictures make him cry? That he's so weak, that he's such a baby, that he can't even look at pictures? Even if Ben pitied him enough to take him, to bring him back to the Hostiles, it wouldn't matter. They'd only kick him out again._

_The Hostiles have no patience for weakness. Ethan has to be strong._

And Ethan sighs and steps forward, because Blaine can't tell Ben what's happening to him any more than Ethan could. Some things are too much for words.

_"I'll take you back," Ben decides, finally. "It's not safe for you out here."_

_And just like every other time, he reaches out to lay a hand on Ethan's shoulder. And just like every other time, Ethan shrugs him off, walking ahead of him._

 

_now_

 

"You're not going to be much good to him if you don't get any sleep," Ethan says, settling cross-legged on the sand next to Ben. 

Ben hopes Ethan wasn't attempting to startle him. It's not easy to sneak up to anyone on sand, and anyway, it's not like Ben hasn't been expecting this. He's not entirely certain what this conversation is going to be, not yet, but he's well aware that they've pushed it off long enough.

He strokes his hand down Blaine's arm. For his part, Blaine snuggles deeper into the nest of blankets Ben has provided for him, curled up by their tiny fire. 

"I'm grateful for your concern," Ben says, dryly. He ruffles Blaine's curls, sighs. "And before you bring it up, Ana's already told me about the gun. And she's shown me exactly where she's going to be stationed tonight." He glances over his shoulder, finds the dark figure a little further along the beach. He can't quite see her eyes in the shadows, but he knows she's watching him. It is, admittedly, a little reassuring. But. "You'll have to forgive me if I find it a little difficult to relax right now, though."

Ethan nods, draws his knees in closer to his chest. Somehow, in the firelight, it's easier than it should be to see the boy he once was. "To be honest, Ben," he says, "you never struck me as the sort of person who avoided difficult things."

Ben smiles at that; the barest thing, a reflexive curl of lip, but still. "Yes, well. I never exactly rushed into things, either."

"Touché." 

Ethan doesn't leave, though. They stare into the flames in silence for a little while.

This really shouldn't be as comfortable as it is.

Ben tugs gently at one of Blaine's curls, watches his face in his sleep -- eyebrows furrowed together even now, and finally asks, very softly, "Was it really that bad? When I -- When Blaine brought me back, from that --" He gestures vaguely in the direction of the path, of the bear cages and the buildings. "Was it _really_ that bad?"

Ethan studies him for a moment, then shrugs. "I've known you," he says, "since I was... Five years old? Six, maybe?"

"You were six," Ben reminds him. "Far too young to have managed to disable the sonic fences on your own, or at least that's what I thought at the time. But then, you always were precocious."

Ethan's smile is thin, and tinged with something Ben can't name. A sort of sadness, a sort of anger that he's carried with him since the day they met. Then it fades; he turns solemn. "I didn't recognize you," he admits. "I knew it was you, because Blaine was holding your hand and he wasn't really comfortable with anyone else, but... But if he hadn't been with you? I wouldn't have had the first idea who you were." He hesitates, obviously on the edge of something, and then says, "That, I think, was the first time I really wondered if Charles was doing what Jacob wanted."

Ben nods. His relationship with Ethan was never easy, but they never could quite manage to hate each other. Which isn't to say they didn't try, in their own ways. "Someone told me once -- it might have been Sayid, actually -- that Locke was under the impression that you 'got rid of me' so you could have the Island to yourself," he says. "Although I suppose that says more about Locke than it does about you."

"Hmm." That's all Ben gets, but there's something pleased about it, he thinks. Maybe he's just reading too much into it. "Incidentally," Ethan says. "When you were pointing towards Room 23? You were pointing in the wrong direction. Room 23 is further to the west, at least half an hour's walk from the polar bear cages."

It takes a moment. It honestly does. But when he realizes what exactly Ethan is getting at, what he's pushing Ben towards -- There are a thousand questions to ask, of course, but only one that matters.

"Why are you telling me this, Ethan?" he asks.

"Because." Ethan's gaze is steady, a little cold. "Lately, I've been thinking I was wrong. About whether or not Jacob wanted you in that room all along. Maybe not for the reasons Charles wanted you there for, but... And if I was wrong, then sooner or later, Jacob's going to lead you back there." Ethan takes a deep breath, and then adds, "And I would rather have you look at me like this right now than have you look at _him_ like this later on."

Ben takes a deep breath, composes his face, and says, "Well. I suppose that seems fair."

Ethan smirks, turns back to stare across the darkened sea. It must be hard for him, to be so close and yet so far away. Ben can't help but feel a small amount of sympathy. 

"For the record," Ethan says, finally. "Blaine didn't bring you back immediately. The two of you spent a few days here, on Hydra Island, before you finally came home. I'm not positive -- I'd just turned eighteen; not exactly old enough to be in the Circle of Trust -- but I imagine that at least a little of that time was spent in the medical facilities at the main Hydra station, where those polar bear cages are. Granted, it's not like watching them examine you would be the highlight of Blaine's life, especially considering the shape you were in, but. At least he would have been with you, and that's all he really wanted."

"I suppose so," Ben says, and strokes his hand down Blaine's arm again. Blaine curls in on himself a little more, shifting on the sand; his back grazes Ben's knee. "Thank you, Ethan," he says. "For helping him."

Ethan keeps his eyes on the water, his expression neutral. Even as a boy, he used to pull that face -- the thousand-yard stare. "Yes, well. I doubt Blaine knows, and I'd appreciate it if you didn't tell him, but. We do have a few things in common."

He pats Ben on the shoulder, then pushes himself up to his feet. "You really should get some sleep," he says. "While you have the chance."

Then he turns and walks away, footsteps scuffing in the sand. 

Ben turns his attention back to his sleeping son. The furrow lines in his forehead have smoothed out. He's peaceful, for a moment. Really, Ben would rather stay awake, taking in the moment. He doubts there'll be much more time for this than there will be for sleep. 

But. Ethan's not wrong, and Ben's not as young as he used to be. He can't stay up all night and hope to be able to fight in the morning. 

So he drinks in his son's peaceful face for a few more moments, then, slowly, lays himself down next to Blaine on the sand and lets his eyes slip shut.

 

*

 

It isn't until the Jeep squeals to a stop in front of one of the buildings and Shannon leaps out as soon as the engine's off -- not bothering to reach for Juliet or Kurt, not even looking at them -- that Kurt realizes this might not be a trick or a trap. Maybe there really is a woman in there, dying. Maybe she really does need Juliet that badly.

Kurt slides out the passenger side to the ground, then reaches out to help Juliet down. She chases after Shannon, and Kurt stays a step behind her, close enough that he's there if she needs him, but not in her way. Because if this isn't a trick or a trap, there's not a hell of a lot he can do.

But if he can do anything at all, then he's going to try.

Kate's waiting for them on the front porch; she falls into step with Shannon and Juliet as they hurry into the building, leaving Kurt in their wake. "The doctor says it's a breech birth," she says. "He tried something, some kind of.. external..."

"External cephalic version," Juliet finishes, pulling her hair back as she walks. "It's a little late for that. Usually, you'd want to do it well before labor even starts, so you're not fighting her contractions. But I can do a c-section; that's not a problem. Anything else?"

"She's..." Kate shakes her head. She's pale beneath the freckles. "She's bleeding. A lot. The doctor said something about a rupture --"

And Juliet swears, and pushes past Kate, hurrying towards two swinging doors set at the end of the hall.

Kate and Shannon look at each other for an uncomfortable few seconds. 

Then Kate looks past Shannon, at Kurt, and Kurt instinctively stiffens his spine and raises his chin, because he knows what she's going to say next.

"What is _he_ doing here?" Kate asks, stepping towards him.

Shannon reaches out to hold her back. "He insisted," she says. "I didn't have a lot of time to argue with him, okay? Amy was dying in there. Besides -- I mean, if he'd just barged in and grabbed me and said I was coming with him, would _you_ have --"

"That's not the point, Shannon," Kate hisses. "Look, it's hard enough for me to explain why Sayid's here, and then Juliet. The last thing I need is --"

"I'll figure it out, okay?" Shannon looks at Kurt, then; there's something a lot softer about her face than before. "Besides, if he wants to help, I say we should let him help. It's not like --"

"Kate!" someone yells -- not Juliet, someone else -- and Kate glances back at Shannon.

"Well," she says, with the strangest look on her face, like she knows the world is ending but she's still trying to smile. "Here we go."

Then she starts making for the double doors.

Shannon takes a step after her, then stops, turns, and looks back at Kurt. "Hope you don't faint at the sight of blood," she says. 

Kurt thinks of Blaine, then -- on the floor in the home ec room, clutching at his thigh, all that blood. He takes a deep breath, and he meets Shannon's eyes. "I'll be fine," he says. 

"Yeah, well. You better be." Then she turns towards the doors, and Kurt follows her.

 

_earlier_

 

She's been in the infirmary an hour before her water even breaks and this is essentially the last thing Kate needs right now, but she can't just leave, because this is Amy. Amy, the first person she met from the DHARMA Initiative. Amy, whose life she saved, and she didn't do that just to abandon her now. So she stays, and holds Amy's hand, and tries not to think about Sayid sitting in Shannon and Charlie's little bungalow, or Juliet and her friends from the future cooking up God knows what. Because Amy needs her, and so that's where she is.

And then the doctor says, "It's breech," in this way that Kate absolutely doesn't like at all, and Kate looks up to see him backing away from the bed like Amy's childbirth has somehow become contagious.

"So?" Kate snaps, because he is not allowed to walk away from Amy. Not right now. "You're a doctor. Fix it."

"I'm an _internist_." He looks at her like that's supposed to mean something to her. "Our women don't have babies here. Not on the Island. They go home, to a specialist, they don't --"

"Yeah, well, Amy's having her baby here," Kate says, and it's hard not to yell but she's trying because Amy is laying there, watching them, breathing hard through clenched teeth. "And you're the only doctor I see. So unless you've got a submarine in some magic box somewhere, or a specialist, or..." And that, that thought -- it catches something. But she's not done, so she holds it back. "You need to do this," she finishes, looking the doctor in the eye. "Because you're the only one who can."

He stares back at her for a while, then shakes his head. "Right," he says. "Right, no, of course. There's... I think I can... If I did an external cephalic version, then maybe..." 

And he turns back to Amy, presses his hands to her swollen belly, and starts gently palpating it, muttering to himself the whole time.

It's a coincidence. Of course it is. However Juliet and her friends got here, whatever reason they have... But it's a hell of a coincidence all the same, Juliet showing up now, the one time a woman goes into labor early. And it's a good coincidence, a useful coincidence.

_If_ Juliet can be trusted. For all Kate knows, she'll pull something -- take the baby hostage as a trade for Ben or even just use it as a way to get close, to get Kate's guard down again, like she did before, to --

And even if she doesn't, how the hell is Kate going to explain her away? She's got the start of an alibi for Sayid; it's not a great one, but with everything Radzinsky's done, it could hold. Not forever, maybe, but long enough. But Juliet. What the hell is Kate supposed to say, that she just happened to run into someone on the way back from the Flame and that the woman just happened to be an obstetrician and she _happened_ to mention it? 

She'd be lucky if anyone believed her long enough for her to finish getting the damn story out in the first place.

"Kate?" Amy asks, voice shaking, and she sounds so terrified.

Kate goes to her, takes her hand; Amy squeezes back tightly. Kate brushes the hair back from Amy's forehead and says, "Hey. Hey, don't worry. It's gonna be all right."

The doctor looks up at the two of them, gives them a thin smile. "Yeah," he says. "It'll be fine." 

Then he goes back to pushing at Amy's stomach again.

Amy squeezes her eyes tight shut, clutches Kate's hand, whimpers softly. It's the first actual outcry she's made since this whole thing started, and Kate knows. It's not okay. It isn't okay at all. "I'm just saying," Amy says, her eyes fluttering open again. She looks at Kate with so much trust -- it still blows her mind, sometimes, that people trust her so much here. "If you have something up your sleeve, like you did with Richard. This would be the time."

_It says you're supposed to raise him._

Kate takes a deep breath, keeps her smile plastered on, and says, "Careful what you wish for, Amy. I might just do it."

"Yeah, well." Amy's eyes shut, her whole face squeezing tight with the effort. A grunt, this time, and then a long sigh. Any more of this, and it's not going to matter what Juliet wants, or what she does, or whether bringing her here gets Kate and everyone she knows killed. Because she can't just let Amy die, not without fighting. "Better make your mind up fast."

Kate swallows hard, because she's pretty sure she just did.

 

_now_

 

It's not like it was with Quinn.

It's not just that they're not in a hospital, that no one's got a mask or a hairnet or a gown on, that there's no safe waiting room to hide in or tv to watch. It is that, of course; it's a lot that. But. When Quinn went into labor, he was with the glee club, with his family. Mercedes, Tina, Finn, Mike, Brittany and Santana, Matt, even Puck -- he was surrounded by people he knew, part of something bigger. He was a part of Quinn's family, then.

This. This is different.

"Who _is_ she?" There's a man in a white coat, probably some kind of doctor, getting in Kate's face as she tries to pull him away from the bed; Juliet's hovering over it, hair tied back, hands busy. Kurt can't quite see what she's doing; he's pretty sure it's for the best. "Where did she come from? Why --"

Juliet straightens abruptly, turns to look at him. "Your patient is in shock," she says, flatly. "We need to get some fresh blood in her, get the baby out, and possibly perform a hysterectomy. Now, if you want my resume after? I'll be happy to oblige. But for right now, all you need to know is that I know what I'm doing, and you obviously don't, so I'm in charge."

The doctor's jaw drops. It looks, for a moment, like he's going to say something. Then he takes a breath, turns to a woman in green scrubs standing nearby, and says, "Well. You heard her."

The nurse stares between Kate and Juliet and the doctor for a long time, then turns, wordlessly, and leaves the room. 

"I don't suppose you have a incubator," Juliet says, one eyebrow raised. "We're gonna need somewhere to put this baby."

"I --"

"Kurt and I will figure it out," Shannon says, reaching out and laying a hand on Kurt's shoulder. "We're both in the motor pool; I'm sure we can come up with something."

The doctor turns, sees Kurt for the first time. He gives him a long stare up and down. "The motor pool," he repeats, sounding dubious.

Kurt ignores him. He turns to Shannon, and says, "Yeah, okay. I can help with that."

Shannon gives him an oddly reassuring smile, and uses the hand on his shoulder to lead him out of the room.

"Ethan," someone says, and everything seems to go very silent, so quiet he can hear the blood pounding in his ears. He doesn't want to turn, but he does; he turns around and sees the woman Juliet was examining, leaning up as best she can. She's not even pale, she's actually _gray_ , gray in a way his father never was even in the darkest days, and Kurt's breath catches in his throat. He doesn't know this woman, not the way Kate or Shannon might, but he doesn't want her to die. "I was gonna name him Ethan."

Something indescribable passes over Juliet's face; Kurt doesn't understand it. He knows he should; knows there's something just at the tip of his brain that would make this make sense, but he can't think of what it might be. Then it's gone; Juliet turns back to the woman on the bed, eases her back down. "Well," she says, lightly. "You've still got time to think of something else."

Then she turns and starts giving orders to the doctor.

Kurt waits for Shannon to pull him again, but she doesn't. She just stares at Juliet, at the woman on the bed, and why can't he place what's so familiar about the name -- He shakes it off. It doesn't matter, not now. "Come on," he says, and tugs at Shannon. "Let's go build an incubator."

"Yeah," Shannon says, faintly. "Yeah, sure."

But she still doesn't move, so eventually Kurt has to go in what he's pretty sure is the wrong direction, just to give her a reason to steer him right again.

She might not be his glee club, his family, but he knows she's worried about the woman in the bed the same way he and his friends were worried about Quinn. And it doesn't make things the same, but it's as close as he's going to get for now, so he needs her to stay with him.

 

*

He's just settling down to a nice meal of DHARMA Homestyle Meatloaf with DHARMA Mashed Potato Substitute and DHARMA Green Beans, with a nice glass of DHARMA merlot on the side in genuine DHARMA glassware when someone knocks on his DHARMA door and calls out "Miles! I know you're home!"

Miles sighs, pushes himself away from the DHARMA table, and stalks over to the peephole. "No solicitors," he replies, even as he's undoing the bolt. "Also, I gave at the office and if you're wondering if I found Jesus, I'm pretty sure he's --"

He stops when he gets the door open, when he actually sees Charlie's face. Dude was a little ragged when Miles met him, long ago and far away and all, but three years of DHARMA living's cleaned him up a lot, left him all rosy and shaven and everything. Right now, though, he looks like he's gone through a time warp, and it's 2010 Charlie all over again. "Christ, man," Miles says. "You okay?"

"No," Charlie says, with his usual tact. "But that's not important. I need you to go to Hydra station, right now. I need you to go and get Horace. Tell him his wife's in labor, tell him --"

"Wait, what?" Miles turns away from the door before Charlie's had a chance to answer, starts rummaging through his cast-off coveralls for his service weapon and walkie-talkie. The nice thing about being Security is that he gets to take the toys with him. (Of course, the downside is that the job comes with him too.) "Amy's in labor? I thought she wasn't due for --"

"Yeah, well, babies. Not known for adhering to strict timetables." Charlie doesn't move any further into the house, which is funny, because it's not like he hasn't made himself at home about a million times in the past. "Kate's already called the bloke who runs the ferry, so that shouldn't be a problem. It's just getting Horace on it that's proving tricky. But, you know. Use your charm, or whatever. Got faith in you." He flashes Miles the least reassuring smile Miles has ever seen. "Just, speed, right? Kind of important here."

"Yeah, yeah, got it." Miles casts a longing look back at his dinner, still congealing on the table, then sighs and heads through the door, pushing Charlie down the walk ahead of him. He's expecting Charlie to linger, a few more words of wisdom or whatever, but by the time he's got the door locked, Charlie's halfway down the sidewalk. "Hey!" he calls, and Charlie glances at him over his shoulder, still walking away. It'd almost make sense if he were heading towards the infirmary, but he's not. He's headed home. "You got someplace to be?"

Another deeply disturbing smile. "Unexpected houseguest," Charlie says. "Explain it to you in the morning, maybe. Good luck with Horace."

Then he's gone, vanishing into the darkness. Miles is half-tempted to call out after him, but. Amy. Labor. _Baby._

He turns and makes for the garage. Ferry's not exactly within walking distance, and he's in a hell of a hurry. 

 

*

 

It turns out that an incubator is a very different thing from an engine. It needs to be heated, and it needs to be mostly sealed, but there still needs to be oxygen, and it should be clear so that Amy can see the baby when she recovers (which is what Kurt keeps saying to Shannon, because he thinks it's what she needs to hear -- that Amy will recover, that she'll be just fine and she'll want to see her baby when she is). It's complicated, is what it boils down to, and they don't have a lot of time. 

In fact, they don't really have any time at all. Barely twenty minutes after Kurt drags Shannon away from Amy and Juliet and Kate and the random doctor (who has to be a little confused, and Kurt feels sorry for him), Kate comes into the room where Kurt and Shannon have set up shop with a spare cot and a pile of random plastic, holding a baby wrapped in a blanket.

Kurt looks at Shannon; she stares at Kate and doesn't move. Kurt sort of wonders if maybe she just can't right now.

So he moves; he stands up, crosses to Kate, and holds his arms out. It takes her a moment to consider, but then she's gently laying the baby in his arms. It's pink and wrinkled -- well, _he's_ pink and wrinkled, assuming Amy was right that it was a boy, which she probably is. His eyes are screwed tight shut, and one little fist is sticking out from underneath the blankets, and Kurt smiles despite himself. He doesn't know what it is about babies, but he's always kind of liked them. They're too young to be anything but themselves.

Then he looks back up at Kate, and the smile fades off his face. "Is she -- Your friend, Amy, is she --"

"He's healthy," Kate says, like she misunderstood, or maybe it's really just that bad. "Juliet looked him over quick; she says everything looks good. He's pink, he's breathing... Ten fingers, ten toes. He doesn't need an incubator, not really. Just someplace safe. And warm."

"And Amy?" Kurt asks, quietly. And he feels bad about it, but... He needs to know. 

He thinks Shannon needs to know, too.

Kate musters up a thin, fake smile. "They're doing everything they can," she says. "I... I have to get back. But thank you, for coming to help. I'm glad you did."

She rests a hand on his shoulder; there's blood on the cuffs of her jumpsuit. Kurt doesn't say anything about it.

Then Kate turns and walks away, leaving Kurt standing there with a baby in his arms and no idea what to do next. 

 

*

 

"I mean, it's an interesting theory," Horace says. It's been a long day at the new facility, Oldham rattling on and on in that way of his, half chemistry, half demonology, and both equally over Horace's head. "But it's all just theory. There has to be some practical application, or it's all just..."

The walkie on his hip crackles. "Dammit," he mutters, and turns away from Oldham's wide eyes, crossing to the other side of the room. "Yeah?" he asks.

"I'm sorry, sir," Lowell says. "Miles Straume just walked into the Hydra station. He says he needs to see you."

"Well, tell him he can't." Horace knows Miles, a little. Works for security, came in with Kate Austen. Seems all right, mostly. But he's not a part of the circle of trust, and he's definitely not supposed to be on the Hydra, let alone asking for admittance to Project 23. "How did he even get here this late, the ferry's not --"

"Sir --" There's a pause, raised voices in the background, and when Lowell comes back he sounds a little shakier. "Sir, he says it's your wife. She's in labor. They're not sure..."

Another pause. More voices. 

"Lowell." Horace's voice cracks; he takes a deep breath, tries again. "Lowell, I need you to tell me what in God's name is --"

"I'm so sorry," Lowell says, softly, and Horace's stomach drops. "Horace. I am so sorry."

 

*

 

A little over three years ago (and roughly thirty years from today), Kate Austen helped a man named Ethan Goodspeed make his way to the Orchid. 

Not even twenty-four hours later, she saved a woman named Amy from two men with guns.

Until today, she never thought those two things were connected.

There's a wide porch on the front of the medical building, and that's where Juliet is standing, eyes closed, head tipped back as if drinking in the night. If she's crying, it's too dark for Kate to see. Somehow, though, she doubts it. 

She lays a hand on Juliet's shoulder anyway; it seems like the thing to do. "You did everything you could," she says.

Juliet lets out a soft, bitter laugh. "It's funny," she says. "I honestly thought... Just for a moment, there, I thought Brittany was wrong. I really thought I could change things. If I could have saved her..." She drops her head; hair hanging down around her shoulders. Her hands clutch the porch railing. "For all I know, it wouldn't have changed anything, but if it _had_. If he hadn't lost her, if she'd lived. Maybe Ethan wouldn't have brought me to the Island. Or at least, maybe he would've let me go. I could've changed so much; I could've..." Her breath hitches in her chest; she lifts her head again and stares out into the night.

Kate takes a deep breath, leaves her hand on Juliet's shoulder. "I brought you here," she says, softly. "If I hadn't... I could've changed it, too." 

In a very, very different way, but still. 

Juliet just shakes her head. "Don't tell me you're regretting it now," she says, but there's no challenge in her voice. She sounds exhausted. 

It's been a long night for both of them, and dawn still seems so far away.

"Not really," Kate says. 

She takes her hand off Juliet's shoulder, turns, leans her back against the railing.

"For what it's worth," Juliet says, finally looking at her. Her face is shadowed, lined, impossibly old in that moment. "I thought about it, too. For a second." She smiles. "But I guess I don't hate him as much I used to think I did."

"Yeah," Kate says, quietly. She pushes her hair back from her face, lets out a long, deep breath. There's so much she needs to do, so much she needs to fix --

But she needs a moment, and if she can't have it alone, well. Being with Juliet was always the next best thing. She never needed Kate in the same way that the others did. She never needed Kate at all, and even now that she knows why, it's still kind of comforting.

"Maybe that's the real question," Juliet continues, half to herself. Kate looks at her anyway -- watches Juliet's grim face as she stares out at the Barracks. Everything's quiet. For now, anyway. It could all blow up tomorrow. "Not whether we can change things, or whether we can't, but. Who we'll have to hurt to make it happen. And whether it's worth it."

She turns to look at Kate, then, holding her eyes for a few long seconds before finally turning and making her way back into the medical center, leaving Kate alone in the dark.

 

*

 

He's not entirely sure when he falls asleep, sitting on a chair with the baby -- _Ethan_ , and why is that name so familiar? -- still curled safe in his arms. It doesn't feel like it's that much later when Juliet wakes him up with a hand on his shoulder, but it's hard to really say for sure.

"Hey," Juliet says softly, crouching down to peer into his face. He blinks, trying to clear his head. "You awake?"

"Yeah," he says. Something's really really wrong, but it's hard to figure out what it is. He wonders how long he was awake before this. Time travel makes everything so confusing. "Is... Is the incubator ready?"

"Shannon's got a bed set up for him," Juliet says; when she reaches out to take the baby from Kurt's arms, he lets her. "We're figuring out the formula situation. He'll be fine. And it's... It's time to get you back to your dad."

She glances back over her shoulder at where Kate is standing in the doorway, arms crossed over her chest. 

Kurt knows there's a lot going on that he's missing, but there's suddenly one thing that's absolutely clear. "She didn't make it," he says, and he can actually feel his face falling. "His mom. She didn't... She didn't make it."

"No," Juliet says, because apparently she doesn't believe in softening blows. "No, she didn't. So I'm gonna stay with him, for now. Make sure he's okay."

Kurt looks back at Kate again; he's still not sure he trusts her -- he's not sure he trusts Juliet either, but -- "I could stay, too," he says. "I could --"

Juliet shakes her head, giving him this weird sad smile. "Go back to your dad before he starts to worry, Kurt," she says. "Trust me. I'll be fine."

"And you'll be back before you know it," Kate adds from the doorway; Juliet furrows her brow, turns to give her a questioning look. "I'm bringing you and your dad and Brittany in tomorrow. If you need to check on Juliet, or Ethan, or --"

And somehow, it's hearing those names together that does it for Kurt. It's so easy to forget when he is, but. Juliet, working for Ethan. Bringing him back to Lima with her. Sitting with him in the airport. And now --

"Oh," he says, faintly. "Oh. It's... _Oh_."

Then there's an arm around his shoulders, and Kate is leading him away. "Come on," she says, gently. "I'll get you back to your dad, and you can get some sleep, okay?"

"Sure," he says, a little faintly.

Sleep. Sleep will help.

Maybe.

Or it'll make him realize what's going on, and everything will be that much in a worse, but either way he's in no condition to fight.

"This is really happening," he says, softly.

Kate actually squeezes him a little tighter. "Sorry," she says. "Afraid so."

 

*

 

"So here's a question for you." Ana glances up at Ethan as he settles on the sand next to her. She doesn't seem any more surprised to see him than Ben did. Sometimes, he wonders if this is as close as he'll ever get to friendship -- these two people who aren't afraid to see him. Honestly, it's probably as close as he wants to get. Trust is overrated. "When Hugo and I were on that boat with Widmore's people, right when they were about to head back to the Island, there was this... white light. And this high-pitched noise. And when it ended -- Bam. Island's gone."

Then she falls silent, looks at him expectantly.

Ethan blinks back at her. "I'm waiting for the question," he points out.

Ana just keeps staring, round-cheeked and cherubic and strangely shrewd in the light of her little campfire, and finally Ethan sighs, relenting. 

"I'm pretty sure you've already figured this out," he says. "But yes. That was me. I knew Widmore's people would be back for me, sooner or later, and that they'd kill everyone on the Island if they had to. So I moved the Island. So they couldn't find it."

Ana nods, eyes still boring a hole into him. "How?" she asks.

"If I told you I used a frozen donkey wheel," Ethan begins, and Ana's expression never shifts, intense and focused. He's struck by a sharp stab of sympathy for anyone else she's ever interrogated. "Out of curiosity, Ana, why are you so interested?"

She tips her chin up, seems to think about it for a second. "'Cause I was looking out the window on the plane, before things got weird. And there was no Island out there. Then suddenly there's this light, and this high noise, and..."

"Bam," Ethan finishes, considering it. It's possible the two are related, perhaps. The Island disappearing, the Island reappearing. But there's something he doesn't quite understand. "But what does it matter? We're here now, aren't we?"

Just like that, Ana turns back to the fire, dark eyes intent on the flames. "Not all of us," she says.

Ethan frowns. "You think that Juliet and the others disappeared... because of me?"

Ana shrugs. "Not necessarily," she says. "But if your frozen donkey wheel is what made them go away, then maybe it can bring 'em back. Only one way to know for sure."

Ethan's tempted to ask why this is a priority now, with John Locke hovering in the shadows, waiting to strike. But then, it would get them off Hydra Island, and perhaps a step away from Locke. And if he could get Ben back to their people, to _Richard_ , he's sure they'd circle around him. Protect him. 

Ben might not leave for his own safety, but if he thought he could rescue Kurt and Brittany this way...

"Well," Ethan says, after a while. "I suppose we're going to need boats."

 

*

 

Horace very slowly peels the sheet away from Amy's still, composed face. Shannon wonders if she should say something, but she's out of words. It's been twenty-four hours since the last time she slept, and honestly, being comforting was never her specialty in the first place.

Horace doesn't make a sound, but his shoulders start shaking.

"Out of curiosity," Miles asks, voice barely in a whisper. "Do you, like, know anything at all about this top-secret project of his over on Hydra Island?"

Shannon almost laughs. "I'm a grease monkey, Miles," she hisses. "Why would I know anything about a top-secret project on Hydra Island?"

"Because he wasn't at the main station," Miles continues. "I mean, when I finally got those idiots to tell me something other than 'Horace is busy and can't be disturbed.' He wasn't there at all; he was at some new facility, deeper in the jungle. And no one would tell me how to get there, and no one would pass a message, not until..." He shakes his head, actually falls silent for a few moments.

Not fifteen feet away, Horace slowly folds forward, sinking closer and closer to Amy's body on the gurney.

"Something about some... circle of trust, I don't know. And when he did come back?" Miles glances over at Shanon; he looks nervous. And okay, Miles was never really the bravest member of the science team, but still. It makes everything that much worse. "That creepy guy was with him. You know. Oldham. I don't know, Shannon. Something's... something's not right."

He says it like that's something new. But maybe it's new to him. Newer, anyway. 

God, yesterday everything was normal. What the hell went wrong? 

"And where the hell is Kate, anyway?"

Personally, Shannon would love to know the answer to that one, too. But she's been trusting Kate a long time, and it's never led her wrong. She's not ready to give up now. "She'll be back," she says. 

 

*

 

She deposits Kurt back into his father's arms just as the horizon is starting to lighten with the dawn. It should feel like a fresh start, like a chance to begin again.

Mostly it feels like the world is ending. 

She hopes Kurt has a chance to get a little sleep before it does. She might not understand who he is or why he's here, but he's still just a kid, and tonight was rough for all of them. If she could, she'd happily leave him here with his dad for a good 48 hours just to let them catch their breath.

But everything's happening too fast, and she doesn't have the luxury of compassion. Not now.

"Mr. Hummel," she says, before he can walk away. When he turns, she corrects herself. "Burt. When you get him settled, I... I'd like a word."

Kurt clings sleepily to his father, and Kate can't say it, but she wants so badly to tell him that she wishes there was another way, too. 

But then, Burt seems to understand it just from the way she looks at them, because his eyes are soft when he says, "Sure thing. Just let me make sure he goes back to sleep first."

He leads his son away towards a pile of blankets near a bonfire. Kate watches him go, and wonders if somewhere, thirty years from now, another father is curled up with his son by a bonfire.

She hopes so.


	4. What Kate Does

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The truth is, none of them blundered thirty years into the past by accident. They're all there for a reason. Whether or not they can fulfill their purpose depends entirely on what Kate does next.

_then_

 

"We've got guests coming," Jacob tells him. "One of them is going to be very important. You'll know when you see her. I want you to give her this."

Jacob holds out a piece of paper -- crisply folded, the ink still black and fresh. Written on the front is _Richard Alpert_.

Richard feels the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. He doesn't even need to open the note up to know what it says on the inside.

_Don't let her leave the DHARMA Initiative. She has to raise him._

"Now?" he asks, almost embarrassed by the way his voice breaks. But he's always wondered when this moment would come, what it would mean when it did. If it would have anything to do with Ben.

He's still not sure about that last part, but he's got an idea. He can't say he likes it much, but it's still an idea.

The sympathetic half-smile on Jacob's face doesn't make him feel much better. Nor does the hand on Richard's shoulder. "Not now," Jacob tells him. "But. Soon."

He pats Richard on the shoulder, then turns back to his loom. "Oh, and tell Ethan we're going to need to start building a runway on Hydra Island," he adds, picking up his shuttle once more.

"For the company?" Richard asks.

Jacob glances up at him, shakes his head. "No," he says. "For later." He smiles once more and says, "See you soon, Richard. And try not to worry too much about Ben. Remember, it's all about parenting. And I think he had the right kind."

"Sure," Richard says, quickly. "Sure, sure." 

But as he walks back up the stairs, away from Jacob's chamber beneath the Statue of Tawaret, he can feel his heart sinking. 

 

_now_

 

"Evening, Boss." Sawyer settles down next to Richard, who's been sitting by the fire for at least half an hour by himself, just staring into the flames. He doesn't even turn when Sawyer speaks. Or flinch. Or twitch. Or blink.

It'd almost be offensive, if Sawyer wasn't more than half certain that Richard Alpert is actually just a really lifelike robot. The only thing that makes him doubt is that the sand would probably fuck up his gears.

"Is there something I can do for you, James?" Richard asks. He sounds a little annoyed. Then again, he usually sounds a little annoyed anyway. Besides, even if he wasn't, Sawyer's got a way of bringing that out in people. Everyone's gotta have a talent.

"Just wondering what was on your mind," Sawyer says, leaning back, eyes still on Richard. 

Richard's face doesn't change; he doesn't pull his eyes away from the fire. Honestly, Sawyer's not even expecting a response, which is why it's such a shock when Richard opens his mouth and says, "The binding of Isaac."

Sawyer blinks. "Excuse me?"

"The binding of Isaac," Richard repeats. His eyes never leave the flames. "In the Book of Genesis. God comes to Abraham and tells him ''Take now thy son, thine only son, whom thou lovest, even Isaac, and get thee into the land of Moriah; and offer him there for a burnt-offering upon one of the mountains which I will tell thee of.' And Abraham takes Isaac into the mountains, and binds him, and is on the verge of killing his own son when God sends an angel to intervene. He actually has the knife in his hand." Richard drops his head, finally, looks down at his hands.

It occurs to Sawyer, not for the first time, that he really doesn't know a damn thing about Richard Alpert. But that's not gonna stop him from making an educated guess. "You didn't think he'd do it, do you?" he asks. "You didn't think John Locke would actually bring your Ben back home."

Richard finally looks at Sawyer -- blinking, astonished. "Of course I did," he says. "The whole point of the sacrifice is that Abraham has to do it with his own two hands. And obviously, I wasn't going to be sent off the Island. Not for that. Sooner or later, he was always going to come home. I knew that from the start." He goes back to staring at his hands. "The only question now is whether or not I'll actually be forced to pick up the knife."

"But if you do," Sawyer says, because he's starting to feel like he's picking up what Richard Alpert is putting down, and it tickles him a little; he can't deny that. "You know what you're going to do with it?"

"Absolutely," Richard says, nothing but conviction in his eyes, and this is so far better than anything Sawyer could've dreamed up that he's half tempted to pinch himself.

"Well," he says, and tries to keep the shit-eating grin off his face. "You need a hand, you let me know."

Richard raises an eyebrow at that, tilts his head to the side. "That's not the kind of offer you make lightly, James," he says, almost scolding. "Do you even know what you'd be getting into?"

Sawyer scoffs. "And here I thought that cage y'all stuck me in was the ball pit at Chuck E. Cheese," he shoots back. "Those weren't love taps your friend Danny was doling out back when you fellas had me building that runway of yours. I know what your folks are capable of. I know it better than you."

"I sincerely doubt that." Richard sighs, looks up at the stars for a moment, then finally turns his attention back on Sawyer. "But I'm not exactly in a position to turn down help, either. So. When... When the time comes. I'll let you know."

"Front row seats to the Richard Alpert Rebellion." Sawyer pats Richard's shoulder, stands up. "I'll be looking forward to it."

"I'm glad you're taking this so seriously," Richard replies, and turns his attention back to the fire. 

The thing is, Richard doesn't give a damn about Sawyer risking his life. Few people would. If it bothers him that Sawyer's being too flippant now... Well. Chances are that's got nothing to do with his feelings for James Ford and everything to do with someone else. "Let me ask you something," Sawyer says. 

He's not expecting Richard to turn, but Richard's just full of surprises tonight, so he does just that.

"Ben Linus," Sawyer says. Hell, in for a penny, in for a pound. "He really worth giving up everything you have for? Not just your cushy post as Island VP... Everything you've built. Everything you've done. He really worth all that?"

Richard's eyebrows furrow together. "Tell me, James," he says. "What would you give up for Clementine?"

Sawyer can't even hide his flinch. "What the hell would you even know about --"

"You could've kept your share of the money Munson stole," Richard continues. "It's not like you couldn't've used it. Instead, you gave it to your daughter. You'd never even seen her. You didn't even know if she was yours."

"And Ben's yours?" Sawyer shoots back; it's not much of a swing, but it's all he's got.

Richard just shrugs. "If Jacob didn't want me getting attached," he says, "he shouldn't have told me to raise him in the first place."

He turns back to the fire.

This time, Sawyer has the good sense to walk away.

 

*

 

"You all right, kiddo?" Burt asks, steering Kurt towards Brittany's little blanket nest. They've got some time before the full light of dawn hits them, but not enough. Maybe he can talk Rose and Bernard into loaning out their bedroom later on, once they're up and about. Kurt's still growing; he needs his rest. 

"She didn't make it," Kurt says, quietly. "Kate's friend, she didn't..." Kurt sniffles, wipes his nose with the back of his hand. "Baby's okay, but. He's gonna have to grow up without her."

That seems to be the running theme here; Burt doesn't point that out. He does glance back over his shoulder at Kate, standing where he left her, curls coming free of her ponytail and blowing about her head. She was there to step in for Ben; Burt wonders if she'll do the same for this little one now.

"It's Ethan," Kurt says, turning his face up to his father. He looks exhausted, confused, overwhelmed. Lost. "The baby; his mom named him Ethan. Before she died. I think..."

Burt remembers the man sitting in the rocking chair in his living room, smirking at the guns all pointed his direction. Remembers the way he'd kept smiling right until the moment Ben slapped the smile from his face. 

If that baby is Ethan, then... Well. That means Kate can't be sticking around for very much longer. 

He helps Kurt the last few steps to the blankets, coaxes him easily down, tucks him in as best he can. "Try to get some sleep," he says. "I'm not gonna be far, okay? Me and Kate are just gonna have a little chat, and... And we'll sort all this out. Trust me?"

Kurt nods, gives him a small smile.

Burt kisses his son on the forehead and watches his eyes slip closed. It doesn't take long before Kurt's body goes loose with sleep, breathing steady and even. It helps, even if Burt knows it's just a moment's peace in the middle of a storm. It still helps.

He strokes his hand through Kurt's hair once, then pushes himself up slowly and turns to face Kate.

She drops her arms to her sides, turns away and starts heading down towards the ocean and the sound of waves. Burt follows after her.

 

_then_

 

Nothing makes sense anymore. Libby's gone, Hurley and Ana have been taken, and now Kate's found herself helping two people she once thought she'd rather see dead.

And the worst thing, the absolute worst, is Richard Alpert. Not because of anything he's done -- although he could've done anything. But she doesn't know anything he could've done, because she doesn't know him. 

But he keeps looking at her like he knows her, and she doesn't know what to do about that.

So she doesn't say anything to him, and he doesn't say anything to her. Not until they've finally reached the Orchid. Ethan and Locke head in; Shannon and Charlie start walking the other direction, and Kate's about to follow them when Richard says, "Wait."

She turns back. 

Richard holds up a piece of paper, then extends his arm, stretching it towards her. It's obvious he wants her to take it.

She doesn't.

"What is this?" she asks.

Richard takes a step towards her, grabs her right wrist and puts the paper in her hand, closing her fingers around it. "The next time you see me," he says. "I want you to give me this."

"Or I could just let you keep it," she says. His hand stays clasped around hers, fingers warm and rough and dry; she's not sure why, but she doesn't pull away.

He half smiles. "I wish it was that easy." There's something remarkably sad about the way he looks at her. Then he lets go, steps back. "You should catch up with your friends," he says. 

"Sure," Kate says. She wonders what it is that Richard's not telling her. But she's spent just enough time around him to know how good he is at keeping his silence. By the time she gets a word out of him, Shannon and Charlie'll be halfway across the Island. And God only knows what kind of trouble they'll get into by the time she finds them again. 

She turns away from Richard, aware of him watching her as she walks away, folded paper crumpling slightly in her closed hand.

 

_now_

 

Charlie's never been good at hiding his nerves, and they're particularly visible tonight. He tries to hide them, tries to disguise his pacing as trips to the kitchen, offers Sayid snacks and beer and half a dozen glasses of water; wanders to the bookshelf and makes inane comments about the titles there ( _Catch-22_ comes up more than once); sits down and then leaps back up moments later to go to the bathroom or get another snack or look at the books again, even though they're his. Drums his fingers, worries at his nails.

Sayid might almost think _he_ was the problem, if he didn't know better.

"I'm sure your friend Amy is all right," he says, when Charlie comes back from the kitchen, another beer in his hand even though he's yet to so much as open his first, and suddenly Sayid has all Charlie's attention. "If Juliet is with her, then she'll be fine. Just like Claire. Just like Sun."

Charlie settles on the couch next to Sayid, perching on the edge, not quite relaxed. "She did have the baby, then," he says. "Sun, I mean. And everything... Everything was --"

"Perfectly fine," Sayid says, and watches the straight line of Charlie's spine curve slightly with relief. "She has a beautiful baby girl. Her name is Ji Yeon."

"Ji Yeon." Charlie repeats it softly, almost reverently. Then he says, unexpectedly, "I don't suppose she stayed. When you and the others went to go help that Brittany girl and all, I don't suppose she..."

Sayid can only sigh and shake his head. "She never would have left Jin if she'd had any other choice. The rest of us might have stayed behind were it not for Brittany, but Sun... Sun was always coming back."

Charlie sighs, settles back into the couch, cracks his beer open. "Guess so," he says, and stares at the wall for a moment. "He's not here, you know. Jin, I mean. We looked for him, for a while. Looked for all of them, but. They stayed behind, and we... Dunno why, really. Sure Daniel'd have some kind of explanation, some kind of quantum... something-or-other. I don't know, though. I kind of feel like it's not so much about science, really. Like we're here... Like we're here 'cause we're meant to be. 'Cause we've got things to do."

He's not really staring at the wall, of course. He's staring at the picture of himself and Ben at the piano. 

It must be nice, having a purpose. Every time Sayid comes close to one lately, it slips away from him.

"And hey," Charlie adds, turning back to Sayid, leaning in a little as though trying to make sure he's got Sayid's full attention. "Don't worry about Brittany. If she's supposed to see Daniel, then I'll bet she's here somewhere. Or now. You know. Whichever. Granted, Kate didn't mention it, but she's been a bit stressed, you know. And if Juliet was with Rose and Bernard, I reckon someone had to vouch for her first. They look all sweet and lovely, you know, but a bit standoffish, and Rose can hold a grudge when she's a mind to. Doubt they'd take Juliet in on her own, but they wouldn't turn down a kid. Probably got her tucked up in bed right now, sleeping like a lamb. You'll see her soon enough."

"I hope so," Sayid says, and sinks back into the couch a little just to get some distance between himself and Charlie's earnestness. 

It's strange, really; he barely knows Brittany. Most of the time he's spent with her, she's been drifting in and out of consciousness, periodically coming back enough to talk nonsense before slipping away again. But she's just a child, caught up in something bigger than she expected it to be, and she needs someone to look after her. Ben and Burt both have their children to think of, Sun has her husband, Ana is an unknown quantity, and Sayid can't bring himself to trust Juliet, let alone Ethan. Kurt and Blaine are brave enough, and he knows they care, but they're only children themselves. That leaves Sayid.

If Brittany is even here to protect, which he doesn't know, because no one will talk to him but Charlie, and Charlie doesn't know anything.

Charlie sighs heavily and sinks into the couch alongside Sayid. "Look," he says. "You're here, aren't you? I mean, it's not like you can just board a plane to Mystery Island from any old airport in the world. There's no regularly scheduled flights. You had to get on the right plane at the right time going to the right place. Daniel's mum told you which one to get on, and she was right. It worked, and here you are. Seems a bit weird to assume she'd get that bit right and be wrong about everything else, don't you think?"

It does, actually, but Sayid's not quite sure he's ready to admit that yet. Instead, he says, "It might have been good of her to mention that before we got started."

"Yeah, well." Charlie actually takes a swig of his beer. At least Sayid can say he's helping someone. "When's the last time anyone associated with this place ever told you anything more than the bare minimum? Even Kate's getting mysterious lately. 'Course, she always was, a bit. Fugitive thing probably didn't help much."

It's another fair point; of course, Charlie always was more clever than he pretended to be. "Suppose you're right," he says, not quite ready to let his worry go. "Suppose Brittany is here, and Daniel returns to the Island to help her. What happens next?"

Charlie shrugs. He leans forward, grabs the unopened beer still sitting there, and holds it out. After a moment's consideration, Sayid takes it from him. The can is still cold, damp with condensation. 

"I guess," Charlie says. "I guess that's when we figure out what we're here for."

It is not an entirely comforting thought. Of course, that's probably the point. And Sayid has been looking for a mission lately. 

He cracks his DHARMA beer open, takes a sip. It's weak, slightly sour, but he supposes it's tolerable enough for now.

 

*

 

By the time he gets to her, she's sitting on the sand, arms wrapped around her knees. Up this close, she doesn't look old enough to be anyone's mother, let alone Ben's. He can't quite do it yet, can't quite cross the gap between her Ben and his, the man he knows and the boy she's come to love. Can't wrap his mind around the fact that right now, there's just that boy from Annie's picture, the one with the little glasses and the too-long hair and the wistful, longing eyes. 

And he really, really, can't wrap his mind around the fact that Annie's here, somewhere, and if he can get things to work out the way he wants them to, if he can get Kate to help him, then he might actually find himself face to face with her. Not his wife, not his Annie, but still. She'll be there, in front of him, and she won't know him but he'll know her and then --

He has no idea what he's gonna do when that happens.

Easier to focus on Ben, and on Kate, watching him with wary eyes, waiting for him to sit down.

So he does it, sinks slowly to the sand, legs sprawled awkwardly in front of him. What he wouldn't give for a damn beach chair, some five dollar scrap of canvas and aluminum from Wal-Mart. Of all the things he'd never thought about missing. "All right, Kate," he says, doing his best to get comfortable (the sand is a little wet, and cold, and beaches are already starting to seem overrated). "What's on your mind?"

"Sayid said --" and Burt feels a little lighter; he hadn't even thought to worry about Sayid, but he's someone Carole knows, sort of, in a way, so he's glad to hear his name. Sort of wishes he was with Ben and not Burt -- Ben's damn sure gonna need him more -- but still. At least he's around somewhere. "He said that Ben has a son." Kate looks up at Burt, eyes wide, a little hopeful. "Is it true?"

"Yeah," Burt says, and smiles. "Name's Blaine. Good kid. He's... uh..." He has to take a moment to figure out just how to describe what Blaine is to him, to his family. Not because he minds, because he doesn't at all, but people have issues -- Burt knows that better than anyone. And God only knows what kind of issues this Kate woman has, but she did raise Ben, and Ben's obviously okay with it, so. "Him and Kurt. They're boyfriends." 

"They're --" She coughs out a half laugh, eyes going wide. "Your son. And Ben's son. They're --"

Burt shrugs. "Not for very long now, mind. Just a little over a month. But yeah. They're together. Seems like it's working out okay. Except for the time travel."

Another half laugh, and Kate shakes her head. "That's -- Is that how you got sucked into all this?" She waves a hand in the direction of the sand, the water, the Island as a whole. "Because your son's dating Ben's son, and so you --"

"Kind of. Not really. It's..." Because the thing is, Annie's already here. She's been with him the whole time, just waiting for him to acknowledge her. And he can only be a coward for so long. 

"There's a girl," he says, trying to keep his voice as steady as possible. "A friend of Ben's. Her name's Annie. When Ben's dad takes him, after that -- A lot of stuff is going to get complicated fast, and her folks aren't gonna be interested in dealing with it. They're gonna leave. Head back to California. She stays there for a while, finishes high school. For some stupid reason, decides to move to Ohio. Meets a guy, falls in love, and they have one perfect, beautiful, incredibly brave son."

He knows he doesn't have to look over at the blanket-shrouded lump that is Kurt for her to get the point. He does it anyway, because he can't help it. 

Kate doesn't say anything for a long time. Finally, she manages, "And then what?"

"Cancer." It's funny how these things work. It's been years since he lost her, and he's better. He's healing. Hell, he's got Carole, who he loves, the second miracle he never thought he'd earned, and still. Can't say the word _cancer_ without a hitch, can't think about it without the hurt (and worse, the anger, the terrible impotence of watching an enemy he couldn't touch slowly and irrevocably steal her away). "She wasn't even thirty."

Another long pause. "I'm sorry," Kate says, finally.

"Yeah, me too." Because he knows without needing to ask: Kate doesn't feel for Annie the way she feels for Ben. Annie had two great parents all her life; Burt knows, he's met 'em. She didn't need the way that Ben does. But that doesn't mean it can't be hard for Kate to hear about it -- to know that she's gonna go back to the Barracks and see that little girl with the twin braids running around, and know she'll never reach her thirtieth birthday.

He's sorry.

But that doesn't mean he can stop.

"Thing is, Kate?" When he turns back to look at her, he finds her staring out at the ocean. He keeps his eyes on her anyway, watching her profile. "I get where you're coming from. I really do. Ben's a kid. He needs to be protected, and you're the one who's picked up the job. No one is ever gonna understand that better than me. But I got a kid of my own. And if things here change; if we mess something up... If I don't meet Annie, then that kid's never even gonna be born. And I can't let that happen. 

"What happens to Ben -- what's gonna happen to him now; it's rough, but he _survives_ it, Kate. He survives, and he grows up, and a dozen years from now he finds a little boy of his own who needs protection. And he protects that kid the way you protected him. Loves him, the way you taught him. But if he's not there, right place right time, then that boy's probably not gonna make it. And if Annie's not in the right place at the right time, my kid's never gonna be born. And God knows what else could go wrong." 

He can't tell if he's getting through or not, but something's caught her at a rough spot -- he can tell by the way her breath hitches, her face scrunching up a little bit like she's on the verge of tears. He's asking her to make a hard choice, though. 

"Ben's gonna be okay," he says. "Maybe not forever, but. If we can find a way back to where we're supposed to be. We can help him get off the Island again. And Kurt, and Blaine, and Brittany --We don't have to choose, Kate. We can save all of them. We just need to get back where we started."

"Easier said than done," Kate murmurs, but she reaches up, dabs carefully under her eye with her knuckles, the way Kurt might. 

"Wasn't that hard to wind up back here," Burt reminds her. "If there's a way in, Kate, there's a way out. But I'd sure as hell feel a lot better about my odds of finding it with you on my side."

Kate finally turns and looks at him; her eyes are sad, but there's a smile tugging at one corner of her mouth. "You're a persuasive guy, you know that?" she asks.

He chuckles. "Yeah, well. Kurt's pretty stubborn. Had to figure out some way of talking him into agreeing with me at least once a year, or we'd never get anywhere."

"Hmm." Kate turns back to the ocean. The black of the sky is fading rapidly to blue; there's not a lot of time left for him to get through to her. Then again, he's not sure he should keep trying. He's used to stubborn people, and Kate seems like the type to push back. It might be time to leave well enough alone. "One more question," she says. "Is he happy?"

_Happy_ 's a hell of a word to define. Burt used to think he knew, but the older he got, the more it slipped away from him. Anyway, some things are better shown than told. "I got pictures," he says. "You wanna see 'em?"

She gives him a look, then, one eyebrow raised, eyes amused and skeptical all at once. "What, you carry pictures of Ben around in your wallet?" she asks.

"Cell phone camera." He angles up as best he can, digs in the pocket of his jeans until he fishes his phone out. It's still well over half battery -- things like this are the reason he hasn't caved to Kurt's persistent pressure to just _join the 21st century, Dad_. His old flip phone works well enough, holds a charge better, and won't break if he drops it or accidentally carries it thirty years into the past with him. "Don't use it a hell of a lot, but. It was Christmas, and it was... It seemed worth holding onto."

Kate's eyebrows draw together. She looks like she's about to say... something, hard to tell what. But then she shakes her head, and smiles, and lets it go. "All right," she says. "So show me."

 

_then_

 

The woman slumped in his dad's chair doesn't look like a Hostile. 

Not that Hostiles look too different from anyone else -- or at least, they didn't look too different in the pictures Miss Olivia showed them. But their clothes are funny -- sort of like the costumes he used to get for school plays, back when he went to school someplace where they had plays and not Hostile drills. Like someone's mom made them by hand. This woman's clothes look like they came from a store, like everyone else's clothes.

He still takes a step back when she starts to wake up, though, hovering in the open archway between the kitchen and the living room, ready to bolt. 

The woman straightens up slowly, one hand to her head. It probably hurts pretty bad; he's never been through the fence but Keith Walbury did once, on a dare, and he said it was awful afterwards. That he'd never felt anything that bad. Her eyes squint shut and then flutter open, shut and then open again, like even the dim lamplight is too much. 

Finally, she lifts her head, looks at him.

Ben stays where he is, between the kitchen and the living room, both hands holding the plate with the sandwich on it. 

The woman just looks at him, eyebrows drawn together, eyes still squinting.

"Are you a Hostile?" he asks, just like his dad said he should.

"What?"

He's pretty sure that if this woman was a Hostile, she'd know what a Hostile was. But he's pretty sure his dad would be mad at him if he didn't really try, so he asks again. "Are you a Hostile?"

She shakes her head, laughs, looks up at him. "I'm Kate," she says. "What's your name?"

Hostile or not, the way she smiles at him makes him want to smile back. "I'm Ben."

"Hi, Ben." Her smile widens. She sits up a little straighter in Ben's dad's chair, pulling at her clothes. "Is that sandwich for me?"

He nods, and then (taking a very deep breath because she still hasn't said she's not a Hostile yet) he takes a few steps forward, leaving the safety of the kitchen behind, and heading towards the woman in the chair. 

 

_now_

 

Horace spends forty-five minutes crying over Amy's body, and roughly a minute and a half standing next to the makeshift crib where Ethan is sleeping peacefully, swaddled in blankets. He doesn't even pick his son up, not even once. Just stares at him, ninety seconds at most, then abruptly turns to leave the building.

Miles follows him out. 

Shannon stays where she is, and waits. 

Less than a minute after Horace leaves the room, Juliet re-emerges from wherever she's been hiding. She heads straight to the baby, like she's worried Horace did something to his son while Juliet wasn't around to protect him.

The worst thing is, she probably has her reasons. Shannon's not a big fan of "my parents made me do it," but she knows what it feels like when to be raised by someone who just doesn't give a shit about you, and she can already tell what Ethan's life with Horace is going to look like. At least she had her dad, most of the time. Who is Ethan going to have, now that his mother is gone?

"Is this why?" Shannon asks; Juliet turns to look up at her, blinking. "Ethan. Is this... Is this what made him the way he was? Is this why --"

Juliet looks at her for a long moment, then turns and picks Ethan up, cradling him close in her arms. He lets out a soft sigh, nestling in. It's kind of creepy, but mostly it's just sad. "I understand why you'd hate Ethan, and in a lot of ways I hated him too. But at the same time... I always knew why he needed me here. Why we had to take Claire when we did, why we had to let Sun go." She rocks Ethan gently, shifting from foot to foot. "Because he lost her. Because it was hard for him. And because... Because he didn't want it to be hard for anyone else."

Shannon doesn't point out how hard it was for the rest of them. How much they lost because of Ethan. Anyway, it's not like he's Ethan yet; he's just a baby. She's not ready to blame him for anything before he can even walk. 

"I don't know." Juliet sighs, looks down at the infant in her arms. "Tom told me once," she says, "that Ethan started trying to join them when he was six. He'd disable the fence and go out into the jungle. Ben would always be the one to find him. At first, he'd just take him back home, but after a while... After a while, he started letting Ethan walk around with him. For an hour, two hours... Then Charles Widmore got involved and things got weird. At least, according to Tom. I don't think he was exactly unbiased."

The hard thing is how easy it is to picture. Shannon's seen Ben with children smaller than himself. She knows how he can be. 

"He let Ben go, too," she adds. "At least, that's what Tom said. He didn't know exactly what Ethan did, just bits and pieces -- that it was Ethan's idea to give Ben the gun, that he saw Ethan with the sub's instruction manual a few weeks before Ben escaped. Not so much for Ben, necessarily, but for Blaine. So he wouldn't have to grow up alone, the way Ethan did."

Shannon's first instinct is to say that Ethan will have _them_ , the same way Ben did. But then Juliet looks up at her, and the protest dies in her throat.

"It's over, isn't it?" she asks, throat dry and tight. "The DHARMA Initiative, the house, the motor pool, dance classes for the kids on the weekends... It's all over."

Juliet just shakes her head. "I'm sorry," she says. "If there was anything I could do..." Then she turns her attention back to the baby in her arms. "But there's not," she adds. "Or I would've already done it."

There's nothing Shannon can say to that.

 

*

 

"I can't believe you got him in a Santa hat," Kate says; she's holding the phone so carefully, one finger just touching the screen. The emotions on her face are hard to pin down -- she's smiling so hard her eyes are crinkling at the corners and yet periodically a tear slips out, has to be wiped away.

This is why he couldn't tell her whether or not Ben was happy. It's too hard to say for sure what happiness is, and there's always some sadness in there somewhere.

"Yeah, well. The drugs helped."

She looks up at him, laughs softly, shakes her head, turns back to the photos. 

He leans over her shoulder.

The next one is Ben and Blaine together, Ben's arms tight around his son. Ben's smile is wide, a little stoned. Blaine's just that little bit more pensive. At least, that's how Burt sees it; Kate wasn't there, doesn't have the memories he does. But that tearful smile is still on her face, so maybe it doesn't matter.

"Say we do it," she says, voice husky and choked. "We make it back. What do we do then?"

All Burt can do is shrug. "Whatever we have to," he says. "Whatever it takes to make sure we get 'em home. That's what we do. You up for it?"

Kate tears her eyes away from the pictures, looks up at Burt. She doesn't say anything; maybe she's not ready yet. But there's an answer in her eyes all the same, and Burt feels a little of the weight come off his shoulders.

 

_then_

 

Richard Alpert comes striding out of the shadows, torch in hand, and somehow this isn't what Kate had in mind when he told her to pass that note back to him. He doesn't even look changed. The shirt is different, maybe, but even from this distance, Kate can tell that the man himself is not a day younger or a day older than when she saw him last. Yesterday. 

Thirty years from now.

She's so busy processing that it doesn't occur to her to try to go out and talk to him. All she can do is watch through the blinds as Horace heads out of the house alone, hands in his pockets. They talk; Richard gestures. Looks angry. Just like he looked yesterday.

Just like he's gonna look thirty years from now.

"But that's not the same guy," Miles reasons, too loudly, and Shannon shushes him as Kate looks around. Ben's not in the room; neither is his father. They're safe enough for now, but still. "I mean, it can't be the same guy," Miles insists, softer. "Right?"

Charlie looks at him, shakes his head. "Have you been on the same Island as the rest of us?"

Then Horace turns around, heads toward the house, and Kate knows. This is why Richard gave her that note when he did, why he told her to give it back to him. Because he knew.

It's kind of nice to think that she's made that much of an impression. Thirty years from now, he'll still remember her.

She tilts her chin up, curls her fingers around the note in her pocket, and waits for Horace to come back inside.

 

_now_

 

He wakes to the sound of waves on the shore, the smell of smoke from a bonfire -- so close to his dreams that, for a moment, he wonders if he's even awake. But the world is bright, and no one's fingers are in his hair; there's a hand resting lightly on his arm and a foot brushing his, and he knows without having to look that both belong to his father.

He doesn't cry.

He takes a deep breath, then another, and then very carefully slips out from underneath the blankets covering him, trying not to disturb his father. 

His dad's fingers clutch at the blanket; he pulls it closer, seemingly satisfied with that. 

Blaine sits up, looks around. It's early still, probably just past dawn. Most of the survivors are asleep, clustered together in twos and threes. The only person he sees up and moving is Ana, coming towards him with a box in her hands. As she gets closer, he realizes it's a box of granola bars.

"Figured I'd bring you some breakfast," she says, once she gets closer. "Since your dad'd probably freak out if he woke up and you weren't here, so you can't really go for a walk or anything."

He glances, nervously, at his father; his father lets out a soft snore and rolls a little further onto his stomach. 

Ana hunkers down on the sand about fifteen feet away, and after a moment's hesitation, Blaine gets up to join her.

"Granola bars?" he asks, because he's just woken up and he's tired and disjointed but he feels like he needs to say something, and that's what he has.

"I tried the all mango diet the first time I was in a plane crash," she says, tearing the box open. "Didn't end well. I had these in my carry-on, asked Sun to keep an eye on 'em for me. Wasn't sure if she'd do it, but. She's decent people." She passes him one, takes one out for herself. 

He hesitates a second (he's not usually hungry first thing in the morning, and he's especially unhungry today), but then opens his up, if only to be polite. Besides, if he doesn't eat, his dad will worry. He takes a bite.

"Anyway," she says, contemplating her granola bar. "I mean, this is all unofficial -- I figure once everyone wakes up, gets on their feet, then we'll all sit down and talk about it. But I had some time to think last night, and something Hurley said kinda... I don't know." Her head tips to the side; she looks at him with dark, serious eyes. "I think I might know what happened to your friends."

 

*

 

The sun's all the way up; glancing over at the kids, all Burt can see is a pile of blankets. Kurt's covered his head, trying to keep the light out as long as possible.

"There's a sub coming in," Kate says; when Burt glances over at her, he sees her staring at the water, face expressionless. "New recruits. A couple of them backed out at the last minute." She turns and looks at Burt. "The three of you are going to take their place."

Burt has a lot of questions, but he guesses none of them matter. Brittany was right. They're nothing but variables, waiting for the problem to define them. This was bound to happen.

Hell, it already has. He just wasn't on this side of it the first time.

"You need me to wake Kurt up?" he asks.

Kate shakes her head, pushes herself up to her feet, brushes sand off her coveralls. "Sub's not in until this afternoon," she tells him. "Get some sleep, if you can. Rose might even let you in the house if you promise to take your shoes off first."

Burt stands up too -- feels rude to be sitting while she's standing; anyway, she is somebody's mother. "What about you?" he asks. "You getting any sleep?"

She musters a smile; it's not great, but it's not bad. She's had some practice at faking it, anyway. "Work to do," she says. "I'll be back to pick you up around noon. We'll figure the rest out when you're at the Barracks."

"Sounds like a plan," Burt says, and reaches out. Even after everything, he's a little suprised that she takes his hand. 

"For what it's worth," Kate says. "I will think about what you've said."

"All I could ask for," he says. "Thanks for hearing me out, Kate."

She nods, and then pulls away, and starts trudging back up the sand to her Jeep.

 

_then_

 

Horace doesn't come out again. Instead, it's a woman, dark curling hair pulled back, a grubby t-shirt and jeans. Dirt on her knees, dirt under her nails.

"Hello, Richard," she says, as she approaches. There's a piece of paper in her hands.

He looks at her, tries to figure out if he's seen her before. There's only a handful of DHARMA people he's familiar with -- Horace, Dr. Chang. Oldham, in his tent just on the edge of their territory, with his chemicals. This woman isn't any of them. "Do I know you?" he asks.

She doesn't look surprised; she just nods, settles next to him. "The last time I saw you," she says, stretching her hand towards him, piece of paper still folded in it. "You gave me this. And then you told me to give it back to you, the next time I saw you."

Richard doesn't remember this woman, and he certainly doesn't remember giving her a note. But he takes the paper anyway. His name is on it, familiar handwriting -- so familiar, in fact, that it makes his breath catch in his throat. "Did you --" There are a thousand possible questions; he settles on the most important. "Did you read this?"

The woman just shrugs. "Wasn't addressed to me," she says. Then she looks over at him. "I traveled back in time thirty years to give you a note, Richard," she adds. "Least you can do is read it."

_Traveled back in time._ He almost says it's impossible, until he remembers who he is. "Well," he says, the paper trembling a little in his shaking hands. "I guess that's true."

He unfolds the note.

 

_now_

 

Ben and Annie are on their way to school when Kate gets back to the Barracks; he glances over at her as she's getting out of her Jeep, smiles, gives her a little wave. 

Kate smiles and waves back.

Ben's attention lingers on her a little longer, until Annie says something, and they both laugh -- bright smiles and clean white DHARMA polos and khaki shorts, young and carefree, hurrying off to school.

Kate stands and watches until they're out of sight.

She doesn't cry until she's safely in her own house again, with the door shut behind her.


	5. Been Here Before

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Ben left Room 23, he left large sections of his memory behind. With Kurt, Burt, and Brittany trapped in his past, how far will he go to get those memories back?

Shannon comes back around seven forty-five, just as Charlie's about to give up and walk out the door without saying goodbye to her. She's still in last night's clothes, rumpled and exhausted and tear-stained, and all Charlie can do is reach out and wrap her up in his arms, pulling her close. 

Vincent pads up behind them, nosing at their kneecaps, like he's trying to worm his way into the hug.

"It's over," Shannon says, words muffled in the collar of Charlie's shirt. "Isn't it? It's all over now."

Of course, Charlie'd love to say that nothing's over. But the last twenty-four hours have been weird as anything they've known since they first showed up on the Island, and that same old sense of impending doom is creeping up on him again. Still, though. "Hey," he says, and when she presses closer, he pulls back a little. "Hey, look at me. Look at me, Shannon." 

And then he waits until she finally raises her head up enough to look him in the eyes. 

"Not everything's over," he promises her, reaching up to cup her cheek in his hand. "Okay? You've got me. You've still got me. And Vincent."

She actually laughs at that, a little, wet, watery laugh. It's enough to start with.

He tilts his chin up, presses a quick kiss to her lips (still seems unreal, sometimes, kissing her -- tall and gorgeous as she is, like a supermodel almost), and then draws back. "Not everything's over," he says. "Have a little faith, yeah?"

"Okay," she says, and bends down and kisses him again before letting him go. "I'll try."

It's hard, leaving her. Hard to pretend that everything's normal (and it's going to get harder, every time he sees Ben, every time --) But he does it; he breaks away from her and walks out the door, leaving her to watch him go.

It's hard, but he's gotten good at hard things lately. Which is good, as that's a skill he's going to need.

 

*

 

It's a small group that eventually gathers around Ben and Blaine's campsite: Ana, of course; Ethan; Sun; Hugo; and Cooper, which Ben supposes isn't really a surprise. He'd feel a bit guilty -- this isn't really Cooper's fight -- but he's well aware of what kind of men Charles Widmore is bringing to Hydra Island. There's no safe place for any of them to be, just a choice between the frying pan or the fire. 

"So," he says, once everyone's settled and the rest of the granola bars have been shared out (along with the bottled water Sun had scavenged for them). "You think you know what happened to Kurt and the others?"

Ana turns away to look at the ocean, and Ben bites back a frustrated noise. He should've known it was too good to be true. "I don't know exactly," she says, and turns, and fixes her eyes on Ethan. "But I have a theory."

"Dude," Hurley says, head cocked to the side, squinting at Ethan. " _You_ teleported them off the plane?"

"No, Hugo," Ethan says, smiling faintly. At least one of them is amused, anyway. "I didn't teleport anyone off the plane."

"When we were on the freighter," Ana continues, eyes still steady on Ethan. "When the Island disappeared. The white light? The high-pitched noise? That was Ethan."

Cooper clears his throat. "Um... Can we go back to the part about the Island disappearing?" he asks. "Because I'm pretty sure -- I mean, the last I checked, it was --" Then he glances back over his shoulder, at the bulk of the Island dark on the horizon. "I'm not seeing things, right? It is there."

"It is now, anyway," Ben says, frowning. There's something he can't quite put words to, a picture that won't come into focus for him. Traces of a memory not quite erased. "You moved the Island?" he asks.

"I moved the Island." Ethan's face is blank, if not precisely calm. Expressionless in that old familiar way. "Although when Richard told me what would happen, he didn't say anything about people disappearing off airplanes months later. I suppose it's possible there's still some things he doesn't know. Unlikely, but possible."

White light. High-pitched noise. _Richard_. It's so close now, almost within reach. But not close enough. Not yet. "How?" he asks.

Blaine reaches out and grasps his hand, holds it tightly.

"How?" Ethan repeats, eyebrow going back up. "Well, the same way that most people don't know things, Ben. No one ever tells them, so they don't --"

"How did you move the Island?" Ben asks, since Ethan's obviously in a mood to be pedantic, and Blaine's hand tightens around his.

_Good, Dad. Good._

Ethan's gaze flicks to their joined hands, then back to Ben; his eyes narrow slightly. "There's a very old place, on the Island. A... powerful place. The DHARMA Initiative discovered it -- probably by accident -- and they built one of their stations there."

"The Swan." It comes out without Ben even thinking about it; the memory follows a second later -- in the schoolhouse, ducking under the desks. A white light and a piercing noise, so high he could barely hear it, so loud he couldn't block it out. And then... And then...

It's so _close_.

"No," Ethan says; he almost sounds disappointed, like Ben's guessed wrong. "They called it the Orchid. Put a greenhouse on top, called it a botanical research station. The real station was underneath; that's where I --"

But Ben isn't wrong. He knows; he's certain of it. "But there was a light," he insists. "A high sound. I was... eight, I think. Eight or nine. You hadn't been born yet. I remember..." He closes his eyes, focuses on Blaine's tight grip on his hand. 

_Think, Dad._

"There was a shipwreck," he says, eyes still tight shut. "A group of archeologists, heading to Tahiti. Someone said it must've been the Swan, the Incident at the Swan. That it brought them to the Island. I remember..."

_"I'm Kate. What's your name?"_

The realization, when it comes, is enough to make him go entirely numb for at least three seconds. He can't even feel Blaine's hand in his. Just...

The archeologists. The ones who stayed. Kate. Shannon. Mr. Pace.

Charlie Pace. Shannon Rutherford. Katherine Anne Austen.

They'd all been on Oceanic 815. He'd read their names; he'd seen their faces -- he'd come so close and yet he couldn't --

Before Brittany, he never would have believed --

"Dad, are you okay?" Blaine asks, nervously.

Ben summons the strength to squeeze his son's hand, even though he's not quite ready to open his eyes, not when he can finally see things so clearly. 

"I think," he says, "I need my carry-on bag. Please."

 

*

 

Ethan is watching them. It's familiar-- almost comforting, in a way. Ethan watching them, the way he did then. Always watching. The only person who ever really saw what Blaine was doing. How he made his father remember.

It helps, in a way.

Blaine keeps most of his attention on his father, one hand between his father's shoulder blades, rubbing in small circles. They used to sit at the piano like this, before his dad remembered how to play. His father looking down, attention inward, Blaine sitting next to him, one hand on his back, waiting.

If Blaine concentrates really hard, he can almost hear drums.

His father keeps his eyes on the pictures spread out in front of him. His eyebrows are drawn together, a little frown on his face. He's straining; it's hard for him. Sometimes, Blaine wishes he'd fought harder, done more. If his father had more of his memories -- But then, he probably wouldn't have been allowed to, anyway. The Island wouldn't have let him, not if it would change things.

But it might let him now, so he keeps rubbing his father's back. Listening. Waiting.

"This isn't everyone," his father announces, lifting his head and looking directly at Ethan. "There were --"

_a squiggle of light, like the afterimage of a sparkler on the Fourth of July, but beyond it, if he strains, he can see --_

"Four by the window," he finishes. "Kate, Charlie, Shannon..." He takes a deep breath; the space between his shoulder blades expands, contracts. Blaine can feel it in his palm. 

_"can't be the same guy"_

"Miles." His father sounds confident when he says it, firm. Secure in the memory. "His names was Miles. He joined the security team, after. Sometimes I'd see him with Miss Katie, or Shannon, or Mr. Pace. Not often. He didn't seem to like people very much."

Ethan looks over at Ana; Blaine's father has said something right, even if Blaine's not sure what it is. "Miles," he repeats. "Anyone else?"

His father ducks his head, closes his eyes, face tight like he's pushing something heavy. Blaine keeps his hand on his father's back, chasing the ghost of a connection. He can't help much, not the way he could when he was younger, but maybe, if he can give his father a boost --

_the light is brighter, the shadows darker. whistling sound. but he can almost hear, so close now --_

_"god, haven't had one of these since i was his age." she looks at ben, smiles; he shrinks further into the shadows. "and my head is splitting. if that's what that fence is like set to stun, i can't imagine what --"_

"Charlotte." This time, his father doesn't look up. He's tentative. Questioning. "I think... Yes. Charlotte. Red hair. She had a nosebleed; Horace had me bring tissues. And the man... The man with her, he --"

_he can't hear. the banging, it's so loud -- he can't figure out where it's coming from, all that banging, and the light, the light --_

He sucks in air in a harsh gasp, his whole body rocking with it, and Cooper jolts backwards a little. Blaine just strokes his father's back as he keeps breathing hard, trying to ease him down as best he can, ease him back. 

"Ssh," he says. "You did good, Dad. That was... That was good. That was good."

Sun passes him a water bottle; he presses it into his father's hands and his father drinks. Automatic movements; he's not quite back, yet, but he's returning. Blaine can almost feel it, the way his father comes back into his body, one inch at a time.

Once he's done with the water, once he's wiped his mouth and screwed the cap back onto the bottle, he's all the way with them, turning his attention back on Ethan. "So," he says. "Who were they? These other people, the ones who aren't on the manifest for Flight 815. Who are they?"

"I'm not certain," Ethan says, although he pretty much is; Blaine can tell from the way he's not quite meeting his father's eyes, continually looking back down at the sand he's sitting on. "But. When Charles sent the freighter to come collect me, there were a few people on it who weren't heavily-armed mercenaries. Lapidus, obviously. But there were also... scientists. I'm not sure why he sent them, but. Three people -- Miles Straume, Charlotte Lewis, and..." His jaw works; he looks up at Ben, half-afraid, half-defiant. "Dr. Daniel Faraday," he finishes. 

Blaine's stomach drops; his hand falls away from his father's back. 

His father immediately reaches out to put an arm around him.

"The last time I saw Kate Austen," Ethan continues, "those three were with her. If moving the Island really did dislodge her in time... Chances are it dislodged them too."

"But..." Blaine's father pulls him closer, but Blaine still feels so sick. "But Brittany was supposed to... Eloise said that Brittany needed Daniel, that she needed to find him, to --"

Ethan's face actually softens a little, and Blaine has to close his eyes, because he just can't deal with this right now. "I'm so sorry, Blaine," he says. 

It's confirmation enough. 

Brittany, and Kurt, and Mr. Hummel, and Sayid, and Juliet -- they didn't just leave the plane. They didn't just go somewhere else. They're in another time, thirty years away. What if they can't get back? What if Blaine can't get to them? What if --

"Did they know what you were doing? Kate and the others. Did they know you were going to move the Island?" Blaine's father sounds so calm now, determined. He's already planning, and it helps.

Blaine curls a little closer anyway, trying to absorb some of that certainty.

"Yes," Ethan says. "They did."

"So it's possible that if they wanted to reverse the process that brought them back in time --"

"That's the theory," Ana finishes. "Only problem is, that station Ethan's talking about? It's on the main Island. So if we want to try to meet them there --"

Blaine's father strokes his arm soothingly, takes a breath, and says, "Then we'd better hope John Locke left us some boats."

 

*

 

Even surrounded by allies, Blaine stays close to his father, arms looped together, leaning up against him. But his body language has changed since yesterday, since their long walk back from the polar bear cages. He's not shrinking into his father, but trying to cover him. To protect him. 

John remembers walking into his father's house, a long long time ago, seeing him hooked up to all those wires and tubes, and feeling that same desperate urge to grow, to be big enough to shield his father from the world, and he can't help but feel that little pull in the pit of his stomach, that doubt. 

But it isn't as though this is forever. All he needs is a few days, just long enough to break through, to make Ben understand. And after that, Blaine can have his father back, and they'll both be the better for it. This is what's for the best.

Still. "This isn't gonna be easy," he says. "Splitting the two of them up, especially now. To be honest, I'm not really sure how I'm supposed to do it."

"You're not." A familiar voice, a welcome one. There was a time when John hated being told what to do. But he's different, now. The Island has made him different, better. He's learned to listen. It's been good for him. "I'll take care of it. Just leave it to me."

A hand on his shoulder, there and then gone; a rustle of branches, and John is alone again.

Except he isn't alone. He hasn't been alone for a long time.

He smiles.

 

*

 

There is a tall, featureless concrete building just visible through the green mass of the jungle, and Blaine is already trembling. 

Ben doesn't recognize the building; of course he doesn't. But that doesn't mean he doesn't know what it is.

_Sooner or later, Jacob's going to bring you back there._

It makes sense, in its own way. Ben is aware that Brittany, Kurt, and the others have almost certainly traveled to the past. To _his_ past, to people that he remembers. And one person in particular who he has absolutely forgotten; a hole in the shape of a human, a man almost certainly in the center of several of the memories that Ben has lost. But if he could remember, somehow. There might be something useful. If nothing else, there might be consolation.

And there, in the middle of the wild profusion of the jungle, is the building where he lost it all. It would be natural to assume that, somewhere in that building, is the key to getting it all back. That if he walked into the building, into the very room where they kept him, he might remember... something.

But Ben stopped making assumptions a long time ago. 

"Fuck Jacob," he says, quietly, and Blaine jolts next to him, staring at him with wide eyes.

"Dad?" he asks, bewildered. "Did you just... swear?"

Ben musters a smile; easy to do, with Blaine still blinking at him, momentarily startled out of his fear. "It's nothing," he says. "Just..." He turns his attention to Ethan, poised on the path ahead of them, not looking back. "Nothing," he says again, and Ethan's shoulders tense slightly. Strange. "I'm assuming the boats aren't being stored in that building over there?"

Ethan shakes his head, doesn't turn around. "The trail terminates at the shore, about a kilometer from here. Follow the shoreline due east; there's a cove. If Locke hasn't already gotten rid of the boats, they should be there."

Something about the way he says that makes Ben hesitate, just for a moment. "You're not planning on coming with us?" he asks. 

"Someone should check out the building," Ethan says. He sounds younger than he should. Ben thinks about the boy he used to meet, alone in the jungle, and wonders. "There might be something useful inside. And since I don't think you and Blaine really want to go back in there, I might as well..."

"I'll go with you," Ana says, stepping up next to him. "I can --"

"No." It's abrupt, sharp. Ben hasn't seen Ethan so obviously unsettled since before he left the Island, and something is very, very wrong. More than that, it's familiar -- it's the same wrongness Ben always felt when Ethan was a child. "You're the only one of us who's armed. You should stay with Ben and Blaine. I'll be all right by myself."

"No, you won't," Ben insists, and this time, Ethan turns around, actually meets his eyes. He looks surprised; not that Ben corrected him, because Ben's been doing that since the day they met. He's surprised, Ben thinks, because Ben seems to care. 

Just like when Ethan was a child.

And just like he did then, Ben has too many questions that he knows Ethan will refuse to answer; too many offers of help that Ethan will never accept.

But he does the best he can anyway.

"None of us should go anywhere alone," he says. "Especially not now. You don't have to take Ana, if you really don't want to, but you can't go alone."

"I'll go with him," Cooper says, pushing past Hurley. "I've got a knife. I could... cut. Things. Stab. Something. It'll be fine."

Ana groans and pinches the bridge of her nose with her fingertips. 

Then Sun moves to stand next to Cooper. "I'll go as well," she says, giving Ben a reassuring smile. "Go find the boats. We'll examine the building, quickly, and meet you there."

Ethan doesn't exactly look happy -- of course, Ethan never really looks happy -- but he doesn't protest. And Cooper seems loyal enough, trustworthy. Sun, hopefully, is clever enough to keep Cooper from getting himself maimed. It's possible the three of them will be all right.

Still, Ben can't shake the thought that if Ethan was right -- if Jacob really did want him in that building -- there's probably a very unpleasant reason behind it. But he can't quite make himself forbid anyone from going in, either. Least of all Ethan. "Be careful," he says. "Stay together. We'll be waiting for you on the beach."

Ethan nods and steps aside; after a few moments, Ben continues down the path, arm still linked with Blaine's. He can still feel Blaine trembling, just a little, but he has hope that it will fade, once they're out of sight of the building. 

Ana and Hurley fall into line behind him.

There's a rustle from the underbrush; Ben glances over, and for a moment he'd swear...

It's the oddest thing, but he'd swear he just saw his own father.

"Dad?" Blaine asks -- Ben glances at his son, then looks back at the mass of green surrounding them. There's no one there, of course. Just a few bright flowers, twined around a tree. "Dad, are you all right?"

"Of course," Ben says, ignoring the chill at the base of his spine. Honestly, given the number of old memories he's had dragged out of him over the last few days, it'd be surprising if he wasn't seeing things. "Come on," he says. "Let's find those boats."

 

*

 

"Okay," Cooper says, following Ethan through the menacing double doors into the creepy darkness of the building. There's water dripping somewhere. There's always water dripping somewhere in places like this. Dim fluorescent lights flickering, making that weird low buzzing sound, random pipes along the wall... "So, what is this place? I mean, assuming it's not a set for some horror movie, which is basically what it looks like. Someplace they, like, electroshocked people or something."

"Well," Ethan says, turning to look back at Cooper -- his profile stark against the dim light, and Cooper suddenly really wishes his knife wasn't stuffed into his backpack. He needs, like, a knife holster. Whatever it's really called. A sheath, maybe. He needs a sheath. Or just to have his knife in his hand; that'd work too... "They didn't electrocute anyone here. At least, not as far as I know. But you're not actually that far off."

"Really?" Cooper asks. "Because I was hoping I was, and that this is, you know. A library. Or an amusement park, or --"

"You're a fan of movies," Ethan says, moving a few steps further into the hall, passing through another set of double doors, these ones already wide open. "Ever watched _A Clockwork Orange_?"

He takes a few more steps forward; Cooper follows. There's a soft sound behind him -- he turns, but it's just Sun, bringing up the rear. "Jesus," he mutters. Why did he volunteer for this, again? But it's too late now. "And yeah," he adds, moving closer to Ethan. "I have. Couldn't watch _Singing in the Rain_ for three months afterward without feeling a little sick. Why?"

"The brainwashing thing," Ethan says. "The Ludovico Technique? That's what they did here. The DHARMA Initiative captured my people, interrogated them, and then brought them here to have their memories erased, so they couldn't ever talk about what happened to them. We found out, of course. Eventually, we found out."

And just like that, Ethan knows where they are, and why Ben and Blaine couldn't come inside. This is the place Hurley was talking about; this is where they brainwashed Ben. And all that stuff back on the beach, with Ben staring at pictures and trying to remember and Blaine hovering over him like he was worried his dad would fall apart if he wasn't right there --

It makes sense. Except for where it doesn't.

"I don't understand," Cooper says. Which, okay, it's kind of the most obvious thing he could say, because he's on a spooky mystery island with another, even spookier Island next to it, and everyone else knows what's going on and he doesn't, so pretty much everything that everyone says is going over his head, but. "You said the DHARMA Initiative did this to your people. But Hurley said that your people were the ones who brought Ben here. So why --"

"The very First Commandment," Ethan says, like it explains everything. Except it totally doesn't. "Thou shalt have no other gods before Me." There's another set of doors, these ones already wide open, and Ethan strolls through them like there's nothing at all ominous about that. Cooper follows, because he has to, but he can't say he likes it. "But Ben had Blaine. He had his son. Sooner or later, that was going to cause problems. So Charles had him brought here, so he would --"

There's a sudden screeching noise, and Ethan tenses, all over, his whole body shuddering. Then this pounding starts up. It's jarring, and scary as hell, but Cooper forces himself to hold still and listen, and when he does, he realizes it's music. Actually, it kind of reminds him of this one club he used to go to, back in LA -- not his favorite place, but this agent he knew loved it, and Cooper'd been kind of desperate for representation at the time so --

Ethan just stands there, his whole face twisted with this awful fear, and the fact that Ethan's scared makes Cooper _really_ scared.

"What is that sound?" Sun asks, coming up behind them.

Ethan blinks at her for a moment, and then his face goes totally blank and he turns, lurching for a nearby door. Cooper immediately follows, fumbling his backpack off his shoulders as he goes. He probably won't be able to find his knife in there, but his bag's kind of heavy -- he could hit someone with it, or ---

He stumbles into the room, and is immediately hit with a wall of noise, so loud it's like a physical force on his body, and he drops the bag, covers his ears with both hands. There's flashing lights, pictures on the screen -- _Think About. Your Life._ \-- and all he can do is just stand there, staring, so entranced he almost doesn't notice that there's someone else in the room, standing in front of the screen. Then it cuts out, suddenly -- all the noise, all the pictures -- replaced by white fluorescent lighting and a sudden silence. 

Cooper looks over at the corner, stunned, and sees Ethan standing there with his hand on a switch, staring hard at the man in the center of the room.

"I think I found the disco," Jack says, eyes wide. He almost looks like he's smiling, like he wasn't just pummeled with the same wall of noise that the rest of them were, like he's... fine. 

Also, he's leaning on a chair with leather straps at the wrists and legs and some sort of weird headband thing at the top, which is just creepy.

"Jack?" Sun asks, sounding surprised. Honestly, Cooper kind of is, too. Not that he thinks that they're the only ones who knew about the hidden trail to the secret boats, but...

But he kind of did.

"Who are you?" Ethan demands, storming over to Jack -- not just angry but _furious_ and maybe it's better that Cooper never got the knife out of his backpack, because if he had, he feels like Ethan would be probably about ten seconds from embedding it in Jack's chest. "What are you doing here? How did you --"

"Woah, woah, easy." Jack laughs, hands up. Cooper's pretty sure he should try to get between them somehow, but it seems safer back at the door of the room with Sun, so that's where he stays. "I guess I haven't introduced myself. My name's Jack. I'm a doctor. I... Someone back at the plane was saying they'd seen another building, out here in the jungle, so I... I guess I shouldn't have touched that switch, huh?"

Ethan leans in, glaring, for just a little longer. Then he brushes past Jack and the chair and hurries out of the room. Sun looks at Jack for a long time, then follows.

Jack turns that grin of his on Cooper, and Cooper feels his blood run cold. "Yeah," Jack says. "Touching the switch. Probably a bad idea."

"Guess so," Cooper says, because there's nothing else he can really say. It's weird; he liked Jack at first. But now the more he looks at him, the more Jack creeps him out, and he can't figure out why.

He scoops up his bag and hurries after Sun and Ethan, and tries not to freak out too much when he hears Jack following.

 

*

 

There are no boats. Of course, there are no boats. But there are drag marks, fresh and clear, leading down to the water. Footprints as well, equally recent.

Ben pulls the collapsible baton out of his pocket, holds it tightly in his hand. 

Ana gives him a look. "Thought you weren't armed," she says, sounding faintly amused.

"I never said that," Ben reminds her, and with a glance over each shoulder, he bends down over the first set of prints. They're large, heavy -- unlikely to be female, unless Coach Beiste somehow got to Hydra Island before them. Boots, judging by the tread. 

"These are wingtips," Ana says, her fingertips in the sand. "Or loafers, maybe. Smooth-soled." She's barely a foot and a half away from him, so... Other side of the boat, probably? One man on each side, carrying it to the water. One in boots, one in wingtips. 

They move over to the next set of drag marks, where the next boat should have been. Ana crouches on the sand, looks up at him, nods. "Same prints," she says.

"Boots and wingtips," Ben says, absently. He rocks back on his heels, considers it a moment. Glances up to make sure Blaine is still nearby, then turns to Ana. "My people might wear dress shoes at the Barracks, maybe, where everything's paved, but not out here in the jungle. Either they'd go barefoot, or they'd wear something suited to walking, like a boot, or a sneaker. Not... Not this."

"Unless they didn't want us to know they were your people," Ana points out. "Ethan sent spies out after Oceanic 815 crashed, to keep an eye on those of us who survived and learn more about us. No reason why Locke couldn't do the same thing."

Actually, Ben really likes Ana. She's clever, practical. Must've been a hell of a cop in her day. "He stays hidden in the jungle, his man gets close, gets our guard down..."

"And when he's ready, he takes the people he wants, leaves the rest behind," Ana finishes, dark eyes steady on his.

Blaine takes two steps closer, like he's expecting Locke to come out of the jungle just because he's been called. It's doubtful, of course; Ben doesn't think that he'd make any kind of move with Ana right there -- she's the strongest fighter out of all them, save perhaps for Ethan. 

He pushes to his feet and reaches out for his son anyway. 

"So the question is," he says, once Blaine's hand is firmly clasped in his. "Who's the spy?"

"Good question," Ana says, remarkably serious. She glances back down at the impressions in the sand, sighs, pushes up to her feet again. "Last time I had to answer it, I was wrong, and an innocent man paid the price." Her eyes connect with Ben's again, hold steady. "I don't want to make the same mistake twice. And I don't want to get everyone worked up trying to figure out who the spy is so they can make that mistake either."

It's a hard choice to make. Obviously, Ben would prefer to have everyone on their guard -- the more eyes, the better. On the other hand, a mass hysteria wouldn't do anyone any favors. He looks at Blaine, watching him with wide, trusting eyes, then glances up at Hurley, still standing higher up the shore, looking back at the jungle behind them. "Hugo?" he asks. "What do you think?"

"What?" Hurley looks at him; there's something... off about the expression on his face, although Ben can't quite put a name on it. "Dude. I mean, Ben. Dr. Linus. Whatever. Sorry; I was... distracted. What was that again?"

"Hugo, are you all right?" Ben asks. No response -- Hurley's attention has already been reclaimed by the jungle.

Baton gripped tightly in one hand, Blaine's hand firm in the other, Ben crosses the beach slowly, feet sinking in the sand with every step, until he's a little behind Hurley, at the right angle to see what he sees.

But it's only Ethan, storming along the path with a face like thunder. Sun and Cooper trail behind him. Cooper looks confused and a little frightened; Sun's expression is unreadable. Something must have happened at the DHARMA station, but for the life of him, Ben can't imagine what it might be. They couldn't have even been in the building more than ten minutes.

"Well that was quick," Ana murmurs, stepping up alongside Ben. "Guess he didn't find what he was looking for."

"I guess not," Ben says, perplexed. 

He glances back over at Hurley again, waiting for some sort of explanation. But Hurley just stares out at the jungle, eyes wide, almost as though he's seen a ghost.

Ben wonders.

 

*

 

"So he didn't actually look for anything?" Blaine asks, glancing back over at Ethan again. He hasn't gone far; Blaine wonders if it's because of what his dad said, about how none of them should go off alone, but he's definitely separated himself from the others, staring out at the water.

If Blaine concentrates even a little, he can hear the drums banging in his head.

Cooper leans in, confidential. "Honestly, I think it freaked him out," he says, quietly. "I mean, it freaked me out. I know it was just, like, pictures and sort of club music or whatever, but there was something..." He shudders, and Blaine tries not to do likewise. He never felt it the same way his dad did; he had something else to focus on, to worry about. But he remembers enough to know what Cooper's talking about. "But I think maybe he just needed to get out of there. I did, anyway."

"Yeah," Blaine says, absently, but he keeps his eyes on Ethan.

_God loves you as he loved Jacob._

"I don't know," Cooper says, and shifts in even closer, until their shoulders brush. "Maybe it's guilt or something? I mean, since he put your dad in there, and obviously it didn't freak him out then, so --"

"What?" Blaine actually laughs, a little; it's not funny but it almost is, in its way. "Ethan didn't -- I mean, he was eighteen. And I don't think he... My grandfather had worked on Hydra Island for a while, when he was with the DHARMA Initiative. He told our leader, Mr. Widmore, about the room. And then Mr. Widmore put my dad in it. It didn't have anything to do with Ethan. I mean, Mr. Widmore liked him, but. He was still just a kid, really."

"Oh." Cooper says, and blinks. "But he -- I mean, why would he make it sound like he -- I mean, if he didn't, then why --"

It's Blaine's turn to say, "I don't know," and so he does it. But he thinks, maybe, he almost does know.

He remembers the rocking chair on his front porch, and a chill goes down his spine.

 

*

 

"All right," Ana says, hands clasped together in her lap. They're back where they started, back on the beach, no closer to understanding anything, and although Ben is trying to remain patient, he's about at his limit. "The first thing we need is a way of knowing who was supposed to be on the plane."

"That would be the flight manifest," Ben says, careful to keep his voice level. "Your friend Captain Lapidus should still have it. All we need to do is --"

"Excuse me." Sun approaches them, light steps in the sand. Her face isn't nearly as hard to read as it was earlier; there's knowledge there, resolution. She's figured something out. "I just need to know -- those pictures you have, of Kate and Charlie and Shannon. Do you have any others? Of the other passengers from Oceanic 815."

Ben frowns. He's missing something; he knows it. But he turns to rummage through his carry-on bag anyway; the best way to get answers is to give some of your own. "Of course I do," he says, pulling out his Oceanic 815 files. They're extensive; better safe than sorry. And of course, there's no telling who they'll meet when they're here. "Can I ask why you're interested?"

Sun doesn't answer immediately; instead, she sinks down to the sand and starts rummaging through Ben's carefully organized files, pulling pictures out and then putting them back, setting folder after folder on the sand next to her. Ana glances at Ben, then turns her attention to Sun, leaning in a little bit as though she's trying to read over her shoulder. Sun doesn't even react; she just keeps going and going until, suddenly, she stops. She pulls a photo out. She stares at it.

Ana stares at the photo too, and Ben feels his heart beat a little faster.

Finally, Sun looks up at him, turns the picture around so Ben can see it.

It's the man who fixed his shoulder up. The doctor. Jack.

"Well," Ben says, and looks up at Ana; she's still staring at the photo, dumbstruck. It occurs to Ben, belatedly, that he's never seen Jack around any of the other Oceanic 815 survivors; just himself, and Blaine, and Cooper. He's been careful. Fortunately for all of them, he wasn't careful enough. "Maybe we don't need that manifest after all."

 

*

 

He kind of wants to talk to Blaine, but Blaine is talking to Cooper.

He kind of wants to talk to Ben, but he's talking with Ana and Sun.

He kind of wants to ask Sun if she has any Klonazepam, but she's already busy with Ben and anyway she'd want to know why and when he thinks about it, he doesn't actually want to talk to anyone.

Mostly he just wants it to go away. 

He's just seeing things, though. He's stressed, and things have been weird, and he's seeing things, and that's all it is. If he breathes, and listens to the waves, and calms down, he'll be fine. He's going to be fine. Everything is going to be fine.

"Hey there, Hurley," Jack says, strolling past, and Hurley actually jumps a few inches off the sand, making this weird strangled-cat noise that he didn't know he could make.

Jack just laughs and keeps walking, getting smaller and smaller as he recedes into the distance.

Hurley thinks about going to find Sun. He thinks about going to Ben, or Blaine, or Ana, or maybe even that Captain Lapidus guy, because maybe he works for Charles Widmore but he doesn't seem _that_ bad. 

But he can't really do any of those things, so instead he does the only thing he can do.

He stands up and starts following Jack.


	6. Ghosts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Joining the DHARMA Initiative brings Brittany, Kurt, and Burt face-to-face with people they lost a long time ago, but they're not the only ones seeing ghosts. Hurley's decision to follow Jack could lead him to a way off Hydra Island, but it could also lead all of them into disaster.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter includes a scene with both Michael Chang Sr. and Michael Chang Jr. To make it easier to differentiate the two (hopefully without destroying character voice in the process), Michael Sr. is referred to as "Michael," while Jr. is "Mike."

Up until yesterday, Santana had no idea that Guam was even a real place, let alone where it was or what it looked like or that it actually was sort of part of the United States except not as much as Puerto Rico. 

Then, yesterday, her plane landed there. 

And so now she's been to Guam, and she knows that it's the largest island in Micronesia and that its capital is Hagåtña (although there's no way in Hell that she could pronounce that) and that it's a non-self-governing unincorporated territory of the United States of America.

She is totally going to ace geography class next year.

Assuming she actually survives this. 

Really, it hasn't been too scary so far. At least not for her. Carole's got some wicked seasickness and Holly spends most of her time standing at the bow of the ship staring out at the water and that Penelope chick hasn't been super-friendly (although she did mellow out a little when Santana proved she could actually read a nautical chart), but mostly it's not too different from the summers she spent with her dad's parents cruising down the East Coast to Biscayne Bay. Except, when Santana was on the yacht with Nana and Pop-Pop, Brittany was off in California or in Massachusetts visiting her friend Daniel or maybe safe at home in Ohio, never more than a phone call away.

And now Santana doesn't know where Brittany is.

Which is terrifying. 

So maybe it really is that scary. 

Except that's not something she can afford to think about, not right now, so she needs to find a distraction. And with Wes somewhere talking to that Michael guy, and Holly somewhere talking to Penelope, and Carole somewhere throwing up, she's got exactly one distraction left.

She leans up against the railing next to Finn, who's still clutching that same piece of paper he's been holding since they got on the boat. Santana has no idea what it is or why he refuses to let go of it for more than five seconds, but she's never let ignorance of a subject stop her from mocking it, and she's not about to start now.

"Oh, Frankenteen," she says, in her best Rachel voice (which is probably kind of shitty, but whatever. She's husky and sensual, not brassy and annoying. Her voice can only sound so terrible). "I miss you so much. My skeeter bites are just aching to be pressed up against your manboobs. If only you were here to eat my face off like you did that one time in the cafeteria which was super gross and put all the Cheerios off their food. How I wish --"

"Do you ever just... stop?" Finn asks, but his heart's not in it. "I sort of get it when we're at school and you're trying to remind everyone how mean you can be, but we're not there anymore, Santana. There's no one here to impress."

It's sad, really. If Finn's not willing to turn himself into a target, then who will she fire at? She keeps trying anyway. "You're exactly right, Jiggles," she says, careful to keep her tone light and totally unconcerned. "You're no one and you're here. What, you're not impressed?"

"Honestly, no," he says, never taking his eyes off the paper. "I'm not. Maybe you could try being... I don't know, human? For five minutes? That might impress me."

"You want me to be _human_?" Satana repeats, and then decides... Fuck it. He wants the real her, he'll get it. "Okay, fine. Here's human for you, Finnocence. We're currently on a boat heading to a mysterious magical Island which may or may not be real, which we may or may not be able to find, and where my best friend in the entire world may or may not be stranded after a plane crash. Which might be good news, assuming she's found Dr. Dan the Time Travel Man, or it could just be some place where she keeps having seizures and nosebleeds because although her brain never really did work like most people's, it turns out that what really fucks her up is when she throws enough electromagnetic energy at her head to send her consciousness back to the nineties and that's apparently not a metaphor for bad fashion sense anymore. Also, the only people who are there to protect her are Lord Gaga himself, a bow-tied hobbit, and his father, Gollum. Oh, and Nurse Ratchet. So you'll forgive me for trying to distract myself for five seconds, but Brittany could be dead right now and I don't -- And I _can't_ \--"

And Finn drops the hand holding the piece of paper to his side, and reaches up with his free hand and wipes a tear from beneath Santana's eyes with his thumb, and she wants to shove him as hard as she can but she doesn't quite want him to fall overboard, so she doesn't.

"Remember how I told everyone in fifth grade that my dad died in Iraq?" he asks.

"That is completely the wrong response to what I just told you," Santana manages, forcing the words out one at a time, trying and failing to keep her voice from cracking on her. She takes a deep breath, swallows hard, and tries again. "But yes. And then we all started trying to figure out how many years you'd been held back, because there was no way you could possibly be ten years old in 2004 if your dad died in 1991. Although Azimio had this really interesting theory that you were actually born in 2001 and were freakishly overdeveloped. Which I kind of enjoyed."

"Yeah, well," Finn says, his hand still on her face, too warm and too comforting, and for some damn reason she can't seem to slap it away. "See, I kind of knew that didn't make sense, too. But then I thought, well, maybe he had that Gulf War Syndrome thing and he got sick in the war but died later? But then, I found some stuff out, and I thought actually he just got messed up from the war so bad he wound up killing himself. But then Eloise came to my house, and she gave my mom this --" He brandishes the paper -- "and it turns out that he didn't die at all. At least, not when I was a baby. He... He faked it."

"He faked dying?" Santana's still not sure where he's going with this, but it's pretty fucked up, whatever it is. Honestly, she's not sure why that should surprise her the way it does. Everything's fucked up these days. "Why would he do that?"

"Because," Finn says, and drops his hand, and goes back to staring at the ocean again. "Because he wanted to leave, but he couldn't explain it to my mom. Or he didn't want to, or whatever. Or he thought she would be mad, which she would've been. Or... Or he was a coward, which is probably the truth. But anyway. He faked his own death, and he ran away."

Santana thinks about that for a second, and then comes to the predictable conclusion. "I probably don't want to ask you where he ran to, do I?" she asks.

"Probably not," Finn says, and then, because he has no concept of subtlety, he says, "He went to the Island. To work for the DHARMA Initiative. And... I mean, I know they're all dead? Because Mr. A said so and that Eloise lady said so and I figure they both know what they're talking about, but... But what if he's not, you know? I mean, what if he's still there? On the Island. And we find him. What do I do? Do I hug him? Do I punch him? Do I do both?"

He looks back at Santana then, and sometimes she still thinks Azimio was right about Finn just being an overgrown toddler. Right now, he looks like a five year-old who's just been yelled at for something he doesn't understand and no one will explain to him. And Santana would really rather keep on being a bitch, but honesty's taken a lot out of her and she doesn't have the strength. 

She wraps her arms around him and says, "I'll punch him for you, if you want."

Which immediately backfires, because Finn doesn't just hug her back; he pulls her in so close that she literally doesn't have any choice except to rest her head on his manboobs, which is awful, and makes her want to cry because she's so fucking scared that Brittany is gone and she's so fucking scared that something's happened to Kurt or Blaine or Mr. A, and she's so fucking scared about what could happen to Finn, to Wes, to Holly, to _herself_ and she's just really fucking scared right now and someone actually knows it which is probably the worst thing she can imagine. 

"I know you're not really interested in my dad," Finn says, quietly. "I just... I just figured since you told me something, I should tell you something back. And that's kind of all I've got right now."

She doesn't start crying again. It's probably the hardest thing she's ever done, but she doesn't start crying again.

She doesn't let go, either.

The piece of paper in Finn's hands keeps fluttering in the wind as they hold on to each other.

 

*

 

The thing is, she should've forgotten all about him by now. Five minutes in an airport bar with a cute guy, that's all it was. Get on the plane, leave him behind, never think about him again.

But then the plane crashed and everything went to hell, and now he stands out. 

Five minutes in an airport bar with a cute guy.

The last time she felt human.

"You're sure this is the same guy," she says, and Sun looks up at her, confused and probably a little annoyed. Ana can't really say that she blames her. She doesn't know why this is so hard for her, why she doesn't want to believe that this guy, out of everyone on that plane, is Locke's spy. She just... doesn't. 

"Positive," Sun tells her, and yeah, she's getting pissed. Not the kind of woman who likes being contradicted, apparently. "It's been a long time, but. The moment I saw him, I knew who he was."

"Ana," Ben says, softly, gently, and this is not who she needs him to be right now. She doesn't want the math teacher. She needs the guy with the collapsible baton who smirked when she called him out on it. "Believe me, I was very close to him, when we first got on the Island. Either he's got a twin brother that I know nothing about, which seems highly unlikely, or... It's him." There's a pause, and then he asks, "Did you know him? Before the plane crashed, when you were both living in Los Angeles. Is that --"

"Nah." She shakes her head, forces a smile. "We met in the bar before our flight took off. After everything, I guess I just assumed..." She thinks about it a second, blinks, looks over at Sun. "If he's working with Locke, though, why wasn't he with the rest of their group? I was at the Barracks for months; so were you. I never saw him."

That makes Sun hesitate; she opens her mouth but doesn't say anything. Then she turns to Ben.

He raises an eyebrow at her. "Well, I wasn't on the Island at that point," he says, a little chiding, "but before I left, there were several places on the Island where my people had outposts of some kind. There's a Temple, a safe place; there's always some people there. The Flame, of course; I believe that's where Sayid was kept. A medical outpost called the Staff. He could have been kept in any of those places, or possibly somewhere completely different; I don't know for sure."

"Exactly," Ana says, and stands up. Because she wasn't for sure before, with Nathan, and look what that cost her. "Until we're sure, I don't want to cause a panic. I'm gonna go find Lapidus, get the manifest, and start matching names with faces."

"Ana..." Ben says, warningly, but then he sighs and shakes his head. "You'd better be quick about it. Because if I see that man anywhere near my son, I'm not waiting for the results of your poll."

It's permission. Limited, but still. "Duly noted," Ana says, and stands up, brushing the sand off her jeans. She turns, looking over to the bulk of Ajira 316, laying inert in the jungle, and hesitates. There's a man near the plane -- dark suit, pale hair. White hair, maybe. The last time she saw him... 

The last time she saw him, things got bad. 

She turns and looks back at Ben, wondering, but he's already returned his attention to the picture in his hands. "Ethan might know something about him," he says. "Perhaps I should ask."

"He didn't seem to recognize him when we were in Room 23," Sun points out. "I wonder why he --"

Ana looks at the plane again; there's no one there. 

She sets her jaw, puts one hand on the gun at her hip, and starts walking.

 

*

 

She stands at the edges of the DHARMA Initiative Class of '81 Picnic and wonders how many of the people here are already dead. 

Not all of them, probably. People came, people left again, like her parents did. Not everyone here is dead. The guy with the fu manchu moustache, the girl with the braids in her hair -- they could still be alive. Maybe they moved to California, or Canada, or Cancun. Maybe they didn't die.

But most of them are dead. Maybe they died on the Island; maybe they died later on, like Kurt's mom or Mike's aunt. But they died.

And now Brittany's here, and everything smells like hotdogs, and the lemonade is tart and refreshing and delicious, and the sun is warm and the grass is green and everyone is laughing and smiling like they've just begun the world's greatest adventure, and most of the people here are ghosts.

Kurt squeezes her hand, his grip warm and firm and alive, and Brittany closes her eyes and just breathes for a moment. "I'm freaking out, too," Kurt says, quietly, and Brittany manages a smile. "All these people. We really can't --"

"They'd think we were weird," Brittany says, softly, and takes another sip of her lemonade. It really is delicious. Maybe they grow the lemons here. "Or crazy. Or stupid. Or all three."

Kurt squeezes Brittany's hand again, and Brittany doesn't really know what he's thinking because she can't read minds, but at the same time she knows what he's thinking. That everyone thought that about her back at school. That they probably still do.

And he's right. They do. And these people would, too, if she said the wrong thing.

Maybe she should stop talking again, like she did in the seventh grade. People actually thought she was normal that year. It was kind of nice.

Still, though. Some people she has to talk to. Some people she doesn't get to be silent around. Not right now.

"My parents aren't here," she says, because she knows he was wondering and because she's wondering about things too but she doesn't know how to ask, really. "They didn't join the DHARMA Initiative until 1992, and then my mom got pregnant and they had to leave again and then no one came to bring them back to the Island and I think eventually they realized that everyone died while they were gone."

She opens her eyes, expecting to see Kurt looking at her, listening -- Kurt was always the best listener of all of her boyfriends -- but he's staring out at the group of people laughing and talking. Watching the ghosts.

Or maybe he's seeing through them, since they're already dead. Maybe he's seeing past them, seeing something else entirely. 

There's a swingset not too far from the table with the lemonade and potato salad. If she listens really hard, Brittany can hear kids laughing. 

She squeezes Kurt's hand.

"They missed it," she adds. "They didn't want to leave in the first place. They were going to stay on the Island forever, and I think for a while they were mad at me. Because I didn't let them."

Kurt finally turns and looks at her, with that look on his face like she's said something wrong again. "Britt," he says, slowly. "You saved their lives. They would've died if it hadn't been for you."

All Brittany can do is shrug. "I don't think they cared about that. The real world is boring to them. But this..." She gestures with her hand; the lemonade splashes inside her cup. "My mom told me how lucky I was," she adds, after a moment. "To get to come here. I don't think she knew I'd be _here_ here. Or now. Or whatever. But she said I was lucky to get to come back to the Island and she wished she could trade me places."

Kurt puts his arm around her, and she tips her head onto his shoulder.

"At least they're proud of me now," she says. It comes out quieter than she means it to.

She sips her lemonade. The ghosts part for a moment, and she can see two kids sitting on a swingset. A boy with glasses; a girl with braids. Just for a second, and then the rest of the DHARMA Initiative class of 1981 blocks them from view again. 

Most of them will die here. Of course they will. Who would ever want to leave a place like this?

"We're gonna go home," Kurt says, like he knows for sure that it's the truth. "We'll do... We'll do what we have to, and then we'll go forward again, somehow, and we'll find Blaine and Mr. Anderson and everyone else, and we're all gonna go home. Together."

Brittany's pretty sure she's not supposed to want that as badly as she does, but that doesn't mean she can stop.

"Okay," she says, and leans on Kurt, and closes her eyes again.

 

*

 

Approaching Ethan right now is probably one of the harder things that Blaine has ever had to do, but he makes himself do it anyway. He doesn't know if Ethan will even talk to him -- they've never really talked about anything before, and Blaine couldn't say for sure but he'd bet that Ethan's never talked to anyone about this. But it's important. Not for Blaine, not really. But for Ethan.

And although Blaine couldn't say why, he's realizing that Ethan is a lot more important to him than he'd thought. 

So he pushes himself to his feet, shoos Cooper off, and makes his way down the beach towards Ethan.

He's halfway there before he realizes that his father's walking a similar path, the lines of their footsteps converging on one fixed point, and Blaine almost sighs out loud. 

Ethan probably wouldn't have talked to Blaine anyway, but he definitely won't talk if Blaine's dad is around.

But he keeps going, because he might as well.

Blaine's father gets to Ethan a little before he does; by the time Blaine gets there, his dad is already settled on the sand next to Ethan, passing him a folder. It's one of the Oceanic 815 folders, the ones his dad put together with Holly's help after Blaine got shot. That was before Thanksgiving; it's barely after New Year's day now. It feels like forever. "Ana said she didn't see him among the others at the Barracks," his dad says, explaining. "I thought if perhaps he was taken in at the Temple, or brought to another DHARMA station to work, you might know."

"Hmm." Ethan looks down at the folder in his hands, studies the picture that came with it. A wedding picture, with the bride cropped off -- a man in a dark suit, smiling. He looks familiar, but it takes Blaine a moment to realize.

It's Jack. The doctor Cooper'd brought over to check his father's shoulder. 

Blaine sinks heavily to the sand at his father's side. 

"I recognize his name from one of Jacob's lists, anyway," Ethan says, finally. "Juliet said he went missing, not long after the crash. Presumed dead. Made her job easier, once she was the only doctor. I half suspected she got rid of him herself." Ethan shrugs and passes the folder back. "Dogen never said anything about Jack being at the Temple, but then Dogen never really says anything. You'd like him, actually. Reminds me of you."

"But you can't say for sure if he even survived," Blaine's father says, slightly impatient. Blaine can't really blame him. If Jack was on Oceanic 815 -- if he knew Locke, maybe even worked for him...

_boots and wingtips_

But Cooper couldn't have known that, could he? When he brought Jack to check on his dad's shoulder, he couldn't've known --

There's no way he could've known --

"You should talk to Hugo," Ethan says. "Sun's a lovely woman but that whole 'Pretending I don't speak English' act of hers really put a damper on her interactions with the rest of the midsection survivors. But Hugo would know. Shouldn't be hard to find, since he's always --"

Ethan turns and looks over his shoulder. Blaine's father does, too. Blaine turns, scans the beach behind them.

No Hurley. Anywhere.

"Well, that's a bad sign," Ethan says. 

"I doubt he's gone far," Blaine's father says, but he sounds a little doubtful. "After all that business about Walt wanting him to stay with me... Still, though. We'd better go find him, before he gets into any trouble. None of us should be alone in the jungle. Not now."

Blaine doesn't grab at his father's arm; it's close, but he doesn't do it. "Dad," he says. "I don't -- If Hurley knows Jack, maybe he... He could've... lured him off some place, maybe as bait, like --"

He can't quite bring himself to finish the sentence; anyway, his dad already knows what he was going to say. _Like Brittany._

"I'll go with him," Ethan says; he actually reaches out and touches Blaine's shoulder. Blaine had almost forgotten, but he can still hear them -- the drums, banging in Ethan's head. It's all he can do not to shudder. "I'll bring him back, Blaine."

Blaine glances back at his father, who's looking at him with sad eyes. "I know that you're worried, Blaine," he says. "And I understand why. But I doubt anything's happened to Hugo, and if it has... We can't just leave him out there. We'll be careful. I promise."

"Okay," Blaine says, very quietly. "If... If Ethan's with you. And if you'll be careful."

"Always," Blaine's father says. He just leans in and very gently kisses Blaine's cheek. "Be back soon," he says. "Stay close to the others, okay? With Sun, or Cooper. They'll keep you safe."

 _Cooper._ Cooper, leading Jack over to them. Cooper, giving him an opening. Blaine doesn't really think that Cooper knew anything, but if he did --

Blaine reaches impulsively for the folder still in his father's hands.

His father blinks at him.

"I want to show this to Cooper," Blaine says. "I don't... I don't think he knows anything, but... If he's someone who Jack thinks wouldn't recognize him, maybe he'd let something slip, something Cooper could --"

"All right," his father says. "That's good. Good thinking. And I'll find Hugo, and bring him back, and... We'll get this figured out, okay, Blaine?"

Blaine nods, and this time, when his father draws away, he doesn't reach out for him again. And when his father starts walking away, Blaine doesn't follow.

Instead he takes a deep breath, picks himself up off the sand, and goes to find Cooper. 

 

*

 

"So who is she?"

Burt tears his eyes off Kurt and Brittany, squints down at the guy standing next to him. Little guy, Asian, with salt and pepper hair, a skinny moustache, and some kind of beard that's not quite a soul patch. Burt has no idea who he is. 

"'Scuse me?" he asks.

The guy looks up at him, unimpressed, then turns his attention back to Kurt and Brittany again. "Day after we got here," he says, like Burt's supposed to already know what he's talking about. "They hadn't figured out what to do with us just yet, but I guess they didn't plan on letting us starve, and Roger's not much of a cook, so Horace sent a couple of boys to march us over to the cafeteria. We're about halfway there, and I see all these people being herded towards the docks. Women and children mostly. And there's this woman, just... You could tell she didn't want to go. And she's shouting, and the man with her's shouting, and there's a baby in her arms just howling away, and then I get a look at her face, and I realize. That's not just some woman. That's my _mom_. With me in her arms, having a fight with my dad, and he's telling her she's gotta go. That she's gotta leave, and never come back. We didn't get to stay to watch the whole thing, but."

It's the craziest damn thing Burt's ever heard. Or it would be, anyway, if it didn't make so much sense. "Guess you came here with Kate, then," he says, quietly. 

"Guess I did," the guy says. "And I'm Miles."

"Burt." He folds his arms, sighs, goes back to watching his son. "It's his mother," he adds, after a beat. "That girl he's been watching for the last half an hour? Twelve years from now, she'll be his mom. And then about six years after that..."

He glances back down at Miles, watches him nod slowly.

"Cancer," Miles says. It's not a question.

"Yours too?" Burt asks.

"Yeah." Miles crosses his arms across his chest, keeps his eyes on Kurt and Brittany. "Mine too." He clears his throat, straightens up a little bit. "Kate said you guys were from Ohio. I've got family up that way. _Leema_ , I think? Something like that, anyway."

He knows how it's pronounced. That much is obvious. He knows how it's pronounced, and he's got someone he's worried about there, and a hell of a lot of questions he desperately wants to ask about that someone. He just can't bring himself to ask, so Burt's gonna have to do it for him. "It's Lima, actually," he says, emphasis on the _eye_. "We're from there, actually. Lived there for years. Might even know your family, depending. What's the name?"

For the first time, Miles actually meets his eyes. It looks like it's hard for him, but he does it anyway. "It's Chang," he says. "I've got a cousin, Mike. Mike Chang. I think he'd be about your son's age, actually."

The funny thing is, Burt's not even surprised. Hard to say what would surprise him anymore. "Yeah," he says, heavily. "Yeah. I know Mike. They're all in the glee club together. He's a hell of a dancer."

"Really?" Miles still looks kind of edgy, but there's also... It feels like Burt gave him something, just with that, even if he doesn't know quite what. "A dancer. That's... Huh. But he's... I mean, you guys didn't bring the whole glee club with you, right? You left a couple of 'em at home. Right?"

Burt wishes he could've left all of 'em at home; much as he'd hate being separated from his son, it'd be worth it to know he and Brittany were safe. But that's not an option he was given, and he's not the kind of bastard to begrudge anyone knowing their family's safe. He claps Miles on the shoulder and says, "Yeah. We left a couple of 'em at home."

Miles manages an awkward smile. "Good," he said. "That's... That's good. I mean, it's not like I haven't been having a good time here, what with the running and the shooting and the screaming and the giant pillar of black smoke that comes out of nowhere to kill people, but I'm sure my uncle would flip if Mike didn't get his bachelor's in finance before he started traveling through time, so."

"Yeah," Burt says, because there's not a hell of a lot else he can say. "Yeah, some parents are strict like that."

"I kind of like what you're doing, though," Miles says, after a moment. "You know kids these days, all their friends are traveling through time so they figure they've gotta do it too. Can't stop them forever. But you can go with them, make sure there's someone reliable around. So they don't get into too much trouble."

It was a little funny at the start. Not so much now. Not when Burt can only barely guess what kind of trouble they're all about to be in. "That's the goal," he manages, faintly.

The smile on Miles' face fades, replaced with something a little more serious. "Good thing you ran into us, then," he says. "Easier to keep the kids out of trouble when you've got help, right?"

It's an offer. More than that, it's the first genuine, easy offer of help Burt's gotten since he landed on this damn Island, and he is almost ridiculously grateful for that. "Guess so," he says, and pats Miles on the shoulder again.

"Guess so," Miles repeats, softly, and then goes back out to staring at the kids.

Burt lets his hand fall away from Miles' shoulder. They stand there, together, in watchful silence.

 

*

 

Mike's friends start arriving at eight in the morning; by eight-thirty, they're all tucked safely in his bedroom, talking in low voices. Michael strains to hear them from the kitchen, but can't make any of the words out.

Really, he doesn't need to. As much as he'd like to pretend otherwise, he already knows what's going on.

It's strange; he barely remembers what his brother even looked like anymore. They were never really close, of course. They were too far apart in age for that. And even if they had been, Pierre's been gone for so long now. More than forty years. 

Michael did watch the videos, once. After the package arrived (no return address, no stamps, just a heavy cardboard box of journals and maps and a few video tapes wedged at the bottom, white boxes with a black logo that could still turn Michael's stomach after all the years), after he knew what it was and what it meant, he found himself alone in the living room one night. His son was asleep in his arms, Julia was resting upstairs, and he couldn't stop thinking about his brother -- the strange, distant man he only vaguely remembered, who'd promised once to come back as often as he could and then never returned at all, who sent home a wife and a son but never came home himself, who receded further and further into memory until he was only a ghost of a very old betrayal. Michael had watched the tapes that night, looking for some kind of answer, some reason why Pierre had abandoned them so completely. 

There was nothing, of course. Just an increasingly tired man with a long string of aliases, talking endlessly about experiments and tests and the importance of secrecy. He must have had so many secrets by the end.

The next morning, Michael put the box out by the trash cans, only to return half an hour later to bring it back inside. There was nothing for him there, of course; there were no answers, but something... Something made him keep it.

And now three of Mike's classmates are missing, and Mike and his friends are poring over Pierre's notes and videos and research, trying to find answers, and there's nothing for them there. There's nothing at all.

He should've left the box in the trash where it belonged.

Hell, he should've burned the damn thing.

But it's too late for regret now. All he can do is deal with the situation at hand. Even if he's not entirely sure how.

 

*

 

Sometimes, he's not even sure it's Jack he's following. Sometimes, he's not even sure there's anything there. Not even in a hallucination sort of way; sometimes there's just... nothing. 

Then he sees the flash of a white shirt through the undergrowth, and he keeps moving.

The jungle starts to thin out after a while; he hears waves and smells salt and wonders if maybe he just walked in a circle. It's kind of a nice thought, really; like, maybe he got heatstroke or something and went in a circle, and now he's back at the camp and maybe someone will give him some water and he can lay in the shade for a while until he feels better. But when he breaks through the last of the trees, he's on the wrong beach. There's no plane, there's no survivors, there's no Ben or Blaine or anyone else he knows.

Just some boats.

Hurley thinks about it for a second, rubs his eyes just to make sure the boats are there. They stay, solid-looking, unmoving. He heads over, touches one. It's real. 

He found the boats. 

He, like, actually found the boats.

Now all he has to do is find his way back to the other beach, where Ben and his people are, and then find his way back again, and --

"Leaving so soon, Hugo?"

It sounds like Jack, for a second, but when Hurley turns around, he doesn't see Jack at all. It's some older dude, thick white hair and black suit pants on, a black tie. White shirt rolled up to his sleeves. White sneakers. 

Hurley'd almost think the guy was just one of the Ajira survivors, wandering around trying to find stuff. Except the guy called him "Hugo," and only a few people on that plane know his real name, and this guy is definitely not one of them. 

Which means he's not from the plane.

"Do I know you?" Hurley asks, trying to sound calm even though he's freaking out.

"No," the man says. And then he says. "My name's Christian. And I hate to do this to you, Hugo, but I'm gonna have to ask you to stay right where you are."

Hurley is officially freaking out. "And... uh, why would I do that, exactly?" he asks.

"Because," Christian says. "If you go back into the jungle now, you'll get lost. And if you get lost, Ben and Ethan won't be able to find you. And that would be a problem."

"Would it?" Hurley asks, but he's starting to feel a little bit better. If Ben and Ethan are coming, he'll be okay. If Ben and Ethan are coming, they'll take care of everything. "How do you know they're coming after me, anyway?"

Christian just shrugs. "I know a lot of things," he says, and grins. "So sit tight, okay? Help is on the way."

And just like that, he's gone.

Hurley wonders if maybe he should leave anyway. Maybe he can find Ethan and Ben. Maybe he...

But then he looks at the mass of green that marks the edge of the jungle, and realizes that whoever Christian is, he's probably right about at least one thing. Hurley would get himself lost.

He stays where he is, and hopes Ethan and Ben come soon.

 

*

 

Mr. Horace is on Ben's couch, crying, and Ben's dad is hugging him awkwardly, the two of them surrounded by beer cans, and Ben waits until his father isn't looking to slip out the door and head off into the night, because this isn't fair.

 _It's not your fault_ , Miss Katie had told him, the first time he'd run away from home. He hadn't been sure where he was going that night, but she'd found him. She'd given him a cup of tea and let him sit on her couch and waited for him to start talking, and he wasn't going to but he was so tired, and he'd been carrying his father's words with him for so long, and it just... came out. _Kinda hard to celebrate on the day you killed your ma_ , his father had told him, laying on the couch with a DHARMA beer clutched in his hands, and Ben had almost believed him, because he'd heard it so much, because he'd known it for so long...

And then Miss Katie told him it wasn't his fault. And that it wasn't fair for his father to blame him. And that he'd done nothing wrong.

And it had taken a while, but eventually, he'd believed her.

And now Miss Amy is dead, and her son is alone in the infirmary while Mr. Horace cries on Ben's couch, and Ben can already see where this is going to end up. Sooner or later, Mr. Horace is going to decide that it's his son's fault, that Ethan killed his mother. And then he'll start saying it. To Ethan. 

Ben can't do much about that, but he can at least give him a head start on the truth. Maybe, if he hears it earlier than Ben did, it'll sink in faster.

Except there's people at the infirmary -- lots of people, clustered together on the porch, talking. Ben hesitates, listens, but he can't make out any words, just a soft murmur of voices. Then someone starts singing -- a tall, thin person; a man, or at least a teenager.

 _Catch a falling star and put it in your pocket, save it for your rainy day_ \--

He has a higher voice than Ben would've expected, but it's sweet and clear; he sounds a little like Miss Shannon does when she sings. Ben creeps a little closer, drawn in by the familiar song and the pleasant voice. The teenager is cradling something in his arms, probably Miss Amy's baby, pacing back and forth, rocking him a little. 

_\--may come a tapping on your shoulder some starless night --_

He looks down at Ben and smiles, and Ben very hesitantly crosses the distance to the stairs, climbs up. The teenager settles himself carefully on the top step, still singing

_\-- you'll have a pocket full of starlight --_

and Ben sits next to him, a carefully-judged distance away. 

The teenager smiles at him again, still singing, then turns his attention back to the blanket-wrapped bundle in his arms. Ben doesn't want to get too close, doesn't want to crowd -- he's used to his presence being more than people can stand -- but after a while curiosity gets the better of him and he edges close enough to peer over the teenager's shoulder at the baby in his arms. There aren't a lot of babies on the Island; the last one was Dr. Chang's son, Miles, who left with his mom three years ago, so it's been a while since Ben has seen one. Ethan doesn't look like much of anything, just sort of red and scrunched up, with a tuft of dark hair on the top of his head. But he's small, and helpless, and it makes the ache in Ben's chest worse to think that anyone could accuse someone so tiny of being a murderer.

"It's not fair," he says, quietly.

The teenager breaks off singing, lets out a soft sigh. "No," he says. "It's not."

Ben wonders if the teenager even knows what they're talking about, but maybe he does. DHARMA's pretty small, and word gets around fast. Anyway, even if the teenager doesn't exactly know what Ben thinks is unfair, it doesn't mean he's wrong to agree. Lots of things are unfair. 

_No such thing as fair, kiddo_ , his dad says sometimes. Sometimes Ben thinks it's the only true thing his father knows.

"You want to hold him?" the teenager asks, and Ben's breath catches in his throat. He does want to hold baby Ethan; he's not sure why exactly, but Ethan's just so small and the world is already hurting him and Ben wants to step in if he can. The problem is that Ben's never done it, and he doesn't know how, and he doesn't want to hurt Ethan any worse than he's already been hurt. 

"It's okay," the teenager says, already holding Ethan out, and Ben reaches back on instinct. "Hold his head... There you go. That's good. That's great. Just like that."

Ethan's not really heavy. But he's solid, and he's warm, and he smells like baby powder, and he squirms a little in his blankets and opens his mouth as if he's about to cry and then subsides, deciding against it. Ben pulls him in closer. 

"My name is Kurt," the teenager says. "What's yours?"

"I'm Ben." They can't shake hands, since Ben's holding the baby, but Kurt's shoulder bumps Ben's, which is close enough.

"Well." Kurt smiles; he looks like someone Ben knows when he smiles, although Ben can't quite place it. "Ben. Meet Ethan."

 

*

 

Hurley's left them a rather conspicuous trail, at least. Bent and broken blades, branches snapped off as he brushed past. It's been a long time since Ben's had to seriously track someone. Nice of Hurley to make it so easy for them.

The question is, why?

"I don't know Hugo particularly well," he says, scanning the trees for the next snapped twig -- it takes about two seconds to find -- "but running off into the jungle like this, without telling anyone... Doesn't that strike you as at least a little out of character?"

Ethan just shrugs, carefully brushing a branch out of his way. "Honestly, Ben, you've spent more time with him than I have," he says. "He wasn't on any of the lists, so I left him alone. He was one of Kate's people, not one of mine."

"Hmmm." It's still strange to think of Kate Austen, the fugitive, as Miss Katie, the woman who spent three years protecting him. Of course, he only made the connection five hours ago at most. That's not a lot of time to adjust. "I'm assuming Kate wasn't on those lists either, then."

"Nope." Ethan says it cheerfully enough, but there's something a little suspicious in his face. "I suppose you're going somewhere with this, Benjamin?"

"Just seems strange to me," Ben says. He pauses, checks his surroundings. Ethan's the one to pick up Hurley's tracks this time; he touches Ben gently on the shoulder, and Ben follows where he leads. "That someone can be so important, and yet apparently Jacob couldn't see it."

"I suppose," Ethan says. He keeps walking, moving quickly. More confident now that he's in the lead. "Or you could take the view that Jacob knew exactly how important she was and why, and therefore kept her off the list on purpose, so she could be in the right place in the right time. I suppose it depends on how charitable you're feeling."

Ben huffs out a laugh at that. "Yes, well," he says. "Me personally, I'm not feeling very charitable at the moment."

It's Ethan's turn to hum absently, although of course Ethan has heard him. He's always listening. 

Ben keeps going. "I wish you could've known her," he says. "Apart from when she first crashed on the Island, I mean. I wish... She might've been good for you."

Ethan looks back over his shoulder, gives Ben a quick smile. "You know I don't blame you," he says. "Don't you?"

"Of course I know that," Ben says, more vehemently than even he'd expected. Then again, Ethan's always struck a little too close to home. "You blame yourself, which in my opinion is far worse. You were a child, Ethan. What happened to you... I don't know what it was. I won't pretend to know. But I do know that you didn't deserve it. And it wasn't your fault."

That catches Ethan; he stops short, one hand on a vine, eyes straight ahead. He doesn't turn around; he doesn't say anything. He just stands, frozen.

"It wasn't your fault," Ben says again, because he may not be a mind-reader like his son, but he's clever enough to know how badly Ethan needs to hear this. "And I don't blame you for anything."

Ethan's head drops; he stays silent for a long time. Finally, he raises it again, and without turning around, he says, "I think we're heading back towards the shore," and starts walking again.

It's as close as thanks as Ben will ever get; he takes it accordingly and follows Ethan's quiet steps through the jungle.

Ethan was right, of course; a few hundred yards sees the rich earth beneath their feet dry out and turn to sand, the vegetation becoming sparser. A little further and they break free of the jungle canopy entirely, back into dazzling sunlight; Ben blinks, shaking his head. When he can finally manage to squint through the glare, he sees Hurley standing at the beach, looking back to him.

And next to him, the boats they'd gone searching for earlier in the day. 

"Dudes," Hurley says, waving at them. "You came!"

"You were expecting us?" Ben asks. He takes a step forward, and Ethan holds a hand out, blocking him from going any further. It's baffling for just a moment, until Ben remembers his son's theory. _He could've lured him off someplace, maybe as bait._

And Ethan had promised to protect Ben. And, it appears, he meant it.

"What are you doing so far from camp, Hugo?" Ethan asks, moving forward, body a human shield between Hugo and Ben. 

Of course, if Hurley's not the threat, then that's not going to do much good.

"See," Hurley says, taking another step forward, and something's wrong; Ben can't put a name to it, but he knows, instinctively, that this is a mistake. "Like, not to sound crazy or something, but I sort of saw this guy --"

"You mean Jack," Ethan says. Two more steps, not quite covering up the sound of another person approaching from behind. 

Hurley's eyes go wide, and Ben braces for the blow. 

Instead, he hears a hissing, feels a rush of air against his cheek. There's a wet, soft sound and Ethan coughs once and then topples to the ground.

It takes a few very long milliseconds for Ben to realize: there's a knife in Ethan's back. He's bleeding. He's --

"Ethan," he says, unable to make his numb legs function enough to carry him.

One more footstep in the sand behind him. 

He turns, fumbling for his baton, already too late to save himself.

A bald head, a scar, a smile. 

He doesn't even have the baton out of his pocket before the butt of a rifle smashes him in the face.

The last thing he sees before everything goes dark is Ethan's hand limp on the sand.


	7. God Said to Abraham

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As Kate struggles with the decision to let Ben go into the hands of the Hostiles, Blaine resorts to desperate measure to get his father back.

He can't quite figure out why he's on the sand, at first. He can feel his legs, dimly; he can feel his feet and his hands; he can taste the sand in his mouth and feel it gritty against his cheek. But there's something wrong with his back -- it's not something he can even really call pain, but it's intense, and it's _wrong_ , and when he tries to shift he can feel something scraping sharp against his spine, something shifting and moving that should almost certainly not be there, so he stays down, breathes shallow, tries to wait it out.

It's entirely possible that he's dying.

"Help me get him to the boat," someone says, and Ethan stops breathing for a good three seconds, maybe four. He knows that voice.

It's John Locke.

"Dude." Hurley's voice, then, sounding stunned. "Dude. You just... You killed Ethan."

"Yes, Hugo, I did," Locke says. Footsteps in the sand, very close to him. A sort of dragging, slithering sound. Ethan wants to open his eyes, but he's honestly afraid of what he'll see. "Now help me carry Ben to the boats. Please."

"I can't --" Panic, now, in Hurley's voice. This would be a good time to intervene, of course, but Ethan's relatively sure that it wouldn't end well. Locke's already put one knife in his back. He won't hesitate to add another. "I'm not helping you kidnap someone! You killed Ethan! Why did you --"

"I killed Ethan because he was a bad person, and I'm not kidnapping anyone." A few more steps, more slithering. 

Ethan chances cracking one eye open and sees Ben's face turned towards his. He's unconscious, glasses gone, absolutely defenseless. Half an hour ago, Ethan made a promise; he told Blaine that he would bring his father back. So much for that.

At least he can say they took Ben over his dead body.

But no, he's not dead yet. If he can stay alive a little longer, if he can keep breathing...

He closes his eyes again, stays limp. He can't rescue Ben right now, but he can make rescue come a little faster. If he can stay alive long enough.

"Hugo," Locke says, strained patience in his voice. "All I'm trying to do is make this Island a better place. I appreciate that you might not understand why I'm doing what I'm doing, but I need you to trust me right now."

"Nuh-uh," Hugo says. "Nuh-uh. No way. Why would I trust you? What possible reason could I have to --"

"Let me rephrase myself," Locke says; there's a thud as something hits the ground, and then the sound of a rifle's bolt sliding into position. "You will help me get Ben into the boat, and we are going to the Island together, whether or not you trust me. Or Ethan's body won't be the only one they find on this beach."

A long silence. "What happened to you, dude?" Hurley asks, finally. He's given up, which frankly is fine by Ethan. He's becoming increasingly aware that his time is limited; the sooner Locke and Hurley are in the water, the sooner Ethan can make use of what moments he has left.

"I discovered my destiny, Hugo," Locke says; really, if Ethan had the strength, he'd love to yank the knife from his back and shove it through Locke's throat. But if the blood loss didn't stop him, the Island surely would, so he stays where he is. "And now it's Ben's turn. If you wouldn't mind taking his other arm."

More slithering, dragging sounds. Ethan keeps his body limp; he doesn't clutch at Ben's ankle, doesn't try to fight. He stays calm, breathes shallow, and listens.

Splashing. Some grunts. "Easy there, Hugo," Locke says.

The sound of paddles in the water fades into the sound of waves hitting the shore. Ethan doesn't move.

He starts to count back from fifty.

_Forty-nine_

_Forty-eight_

_Forty-seven_

 

*

 

The worst thing is, no one fights. Not Charlie, not Shannon, not even Miles. Three years ago, if she'd told Miles the sky was blue he would've insisted it was green just for the sake of being an ass, and now...

Now he nods. Looks at Burt Hummel, then back at her, and nods, and says, "Your call, boss."

"If you think that's what we should do."

"I'm with you, Kate."

A unanimous vote. Ben would go to the Hostiles. He would become one of them. And in exchange, he'd be given a son, a chance to flee the Island, and ten years of something like happiness out in the real world.

It wasn't what Kate wanted. 

It was all she could give him.

Then she hears a soft, familiar voice say, "It's not fair," from over by the stairs, from where Kurt's been camped out with Ethan, and it hurts that much more.

"No," Kurt says. He'd left about five minutes into the conversation, said he couldn't bear to hear them talking about Blaine like he wasn't a real person, like his existence should somehow still be up for debate. Went and picked up Ethan and carried him to the steps with a blanket and a bottle, and Kate couldn't really say she blamed him. "It's not."

Kate breaks away from where Miles, Sayid, and Brittany are talking about Dan ( _Don't worry about it, kiddo. Whatever I have to say to get him here, I'll get him here_ ), drifts a little closer to the stairs. 

"You want to hold him?" Kurt asks. He knows who he's talking to; Kate can tell by the gentleness of his tone, how careful he is when he deposits Ethan into Ben's arms. "It's okay. Hold his head... There you go. That's good. That's great. Just like that."

Ben pulls Ethan in close against his chest. Someone steps up beside Kate; heavy footsteps, probably Burt. 

"My name is Kurt." He says it like it's easy, like it's not causing him any pain at all, even though Kate knows damn well it has to sting. "What's yours?"

"I'm Ben." 

Burt sighs heavily. 

Kurt nudges his shoulder up against Ben's in greeting. "Well, Ben. Meet Ethan."

"Kind of late for him to be out," Burt says, quietly -- Kate doesn't say she's seen Ben out later; she has a feeling Burt already knows. "Guess that means he's not sleeping at home tonight."

"I'll take him," Kate says, quickly. It's not going to be easy, of course. Not after what she's just agreed to. But it's probably going to be her only chance to say goodbye, and she's not giving that up. Not for anything. "You've got two kids already. I can take care of one for the night."

She can see Burt nodding out of the corner of her eye. "If you're sure," he says, softly. 

"You're a natural," Kurt says. His voice just barely shakes on the last word. "Bet you'll make a good dad someday."

"You think so?" Ben almost sounds like he doesn't really believe it, which is the worst part. Kate's tried, she really has, but he's still so beaten down by everything.

If there's a bright side to him joining the Hostiles, it's this: at least he won't be with his father anymore.

She turns, smiles up at Burt as best she can. "Yeah," she says. "Yeah. I'm sure."

She doesn't go to collect Ben, though, lets him sit there with Ethan cradled in his arms, holding him so carefully. Kate almost wishes she could go just a few years further down the line, see him with his son for the first time. 

Kurt's quiet for a while; Kate can't tell if he's choosing his words or if he's just waiting to make sure they come out steady. "I think you'll make a great dad," he says, and bumps Ben with his shoulder again. 

Burt very gently touches Kate's wrist; just a tap, and then he withdraws.

"He likes it when you sing to him," Kurt says. "Do you want to sing something?"

Ben shrugs. "I only know one song," he says. "And you already sang it."

Kurt takes a deep breath -- even from so far away, Kate can see his shoulders rise and fall -- and then he says, "We can sing it again. I'm sure he doesn't mind."

Kate reaches out for Burt's hand, latches on tight as she can. His hands are big and rough and strong; she's pretty sure she's holding on hard enough to hurt him anyway, but he doesn't complain. He just squeezes back as Kurt starts singing

_Catch a falling star and put in your pocket_

And then Ben joins in, voice so soft it's only just audible.

_Never let it fade away._

"He sings this song to Blaine," Burt says, his voice a little rougher. "He... 'Cause Annie used to sing this to Kurt, and he was sleeping over at Blaine's for the weekend, and Blaine -- Well. Blaine had a rough night, the first night. So the second night, he was having a hard time getting to sleep, and Kurt wanted to help, so he sang this for Blaine. And Blaine mentioned that his dad sings it, too. And then Kurt told me."

Kate sang it to Ben that first night, when she found him standing outside his house, lost and ready to bolt. She took him home and calmed him down; gave him a cup of tea to drink and then made up the couch for him so he wouldn't have to go home. He'd looked so small laying there, underneath the blankets she'd stripped from her bed. Small and afraid and alone and in need of a mother, the way she'd needed her mom once, a long time ago.

So she sang to him, and he smiled at her, and it felt like something healing.

She doesn't tell Burt that.

"You sing to Kurt?" she asks. "After Annie... Did you sing to him, like she did?"

"Annie sang like an angel," Burt says. "I sing like crap. So no, I didn't sing like she did." He squeezes her hand and adds, "But I sang anyway."

Maybe she is going to tell Burt after all. "Yeah," Kate says. "Yeah, I sing too, sometimes."

Kurt echoes Ben's "Pocket full of starlight" in a funny little descant, and Ben giggles, and Kate smiles and feels her heart breaking at the same time. 

 

*

 

Cooper can't quite tell when Blaine goes off the rails, but he's smart enough to know why, at least. 

He's scared. Just like he was on the plane.

"And you introduced them! You walked him right up to my father, and you --"

When the plane was crashing, Cooper grabbed Blaine and it seemed to help. So he does it again, reaches out and grabs Blaine by the shoulders (he's shaking a little), and says, "Blaine."

Blaine falls mutinously silent, jaw set. The folder is shaking in his hands. 

Cooper squeezes a little tighter, even though Blaine's not really fighting him. He's not sure why exactly. Maybe he just needs to hold on to something. "When I met Jack, he was putting stitches in a flight attendant's forehead. She was, like, all split open, and bleeding, and he had a sewing kit from someone's carry-on and two bottles of airplane vodka, and he cleaned her up and he put her back together, and I thought... This guy knows what he's doing. Which I couldn't say about me. So I brought him over because I thought... Because I thought he could help." 

Come to think of it, Cooper can't really tell if Blaine's the only one shaking anymore. It's possible Cooper's shaking too. And his words are starting to come out high and sharp and fast like Blaine's, and he thinks maybe he's going off the rails too. Or at least he's about to cry, anyway. Which is stupid, and he shouldn't, and he should understand, but he thought for once in his life he was doing the right thing and now it's all gone to hell. 

"I didn't -- I mean, I did, maybe, but I didn't _know_. If I knew, I wouldn't've -- I wouldn't hurt you, Blaine. Why would I want to hurt you? I barely even know you."

Blaine's lips tremble; his eyes get shiny. He says, very quietly, "Since when has that ever stopped anyone?"

That takes Cooper a moment to really understand, and when he gets it, it kind of stops him in his tracks. "Jesus," he says, quietly, and just like that, Blaine starts to crumble, tears spilling over to dampen his eyelashes and roll down his cheeks. 

"Blaine --" Cooper uses his grip on Blaine's shoulders to pull him in close, close enough that Cooper can't see him crying because he's not sure he can deal with it. "I didn't know," he says, Blaine's hair tickling his chin, Blaine's hands gripping his t-shirt tight. "I swear to God, Blaine. I had no idea. I just... I knew I couldn't help you. But I thought he could. I'm sorry. I'm really... I'm really sorry."

Blaine sniffles into Cooper's chest, clings even tighter, then slowly draws back, eyes still shiny, nose a little red. "It's okay," Blaine says, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand. "I... I just... I shouldn't have assumed, but I --"

"Hey." Cooper puts his hands back on Blaine's shoulders again, just to have someplace to put them. "Hey. Like you said, it's -- It's kind of what you're used to." 

"Yeah, well." Blaine swallows hard, looks up at Cooper. "For what it's worth, you were doing just fine. Helping, I mean. You were... You are. Really helpful."

Cooper laughs, shakes his head, looks away down the beach. "I'm... I mean, that's great of you to say, but. I'm an idiot. It's not... Helping people isn't really what I do. I just. Pretend."

This time, Blaine's the one who reaches out, one hand on Cooper's arm, above the elbow. "No," he says. "Hey, no, that's not true. You've been great, and I --"

And that's when Cooper sees someone staggering along the beach. Whoever it is, they're too far away for Cooper to pick out much, but there's something wrong with the way they're moving.

Then the person falls, face first into the water, and Cooper pushes past Blaine and starts running, which is probably really rude, but. Anyone can drown in, like, a teaspoon of water. He's read it a million times. 

"Coop?" Blaine asks.

The person in the water sort of pushes himself up a little bit, wobbles, falls back down again, and Blaine says, "Oh God," and starts running, too. Cooper can hear his footsteps scuffing through the sand. 

Someone else shouts out; more voices, more footsteps.

Cooper keeps running, right up until the second time the person pushes himself up. Because this time, Cooper's close enough to see who it is.

It's Ethan. 

Cooper skids to a stop, just staring, and Blaine sprints past him. 

"Ethan," Blaine says, putting his arms around Ethan to try and help him up; there's a knife in Ethan's back, wobbling dangerously, and Cooper can't move, because. Ethan. In the water. With a knife in his back. "Oh, God. Somebody --" He glances back over his shoulder at Cooper. "Get Jack," he says.

The folder that Blaine was carrying, the one with Jack's photo, the one proving who he is, is open on the sand next to him. "But -- _Jack_ \--"

"Is still a doctor," Blaine says; and for just a second, he sounds so much like his father that it's a little scary. "Go get him."

He sounds so damn sure that Cooper actually turns around, starts to head back up the beach even though most of the rest of the survivors are already heading right for him. Then Ethan makes the weirdest, scariest noise Cooper's ever heard, and he can't leave Blaine alone with him, not like that.

He turns back again.

Ethan's managed to get himself up onto his knees, swaying there, staring at Blaine as Blaine tries to hold him up. " _Listen_ ," he says, and grabs onto Blaine's wrist with one hand, squeezing so tight that his knuckles bleach out. 

Blaine hitches in a short, sharp breath, and Cooper stumbles back down the water to them, reaches out.

"Don't," Blaine says, staring back at Ethan wide-eyed, and Cooper freezes where he is, hand outstretched. "Don't. It's... It's okay." He takes a deep breath, lets it out slowly.

"It's okay," Blaine says again, eyes still on Ethan, unwavering. His other hand comes up to cover Ethan's. "I'm listening."

 

*

 

He doesn't break until he's got the kids in bed.

Honestly, it's kinda impressive that he's held his shit together this long, when he thinks about it. In the last forty-eight hours, he's been in a plane crash (or something like it), traveled through time, lost his kid, found his kid, had his kid run off to protect a woman he barely knows, had his kid come back again, joined the DHARMA Initiative, seen his dead wife like five times except she doesn't know it because she's still just a child, and convinced a group of people who don't know him and shouldn't trust him to send a twelve year-old kid off to the Hostiles, who are obviously called the Hostiles for a reason. 

And he hasn't slept since God knows when.

But it's not the first time he's had it rough, and it's not an excuse for freaking the kids out. So he gets them to brush their teeth and change into their pajamas (clothing courtesy of that Shannon woman, which is an awful big kindness for her to show in the midst of her own personal hell), gets 'em tucked in to their beds (shared room, but it's not like they're gonna get in any trouble -- hell, even when they tried, it wasn't convincing), and goes out to the living room with a glass of water, just to sit on the couch for a second and catch his breath.

The next thing he knows, the glass is on the floor, the water's spilled all over the carpet, and he's crying so hard he can't quite manage to breathe because he just doesn't know how to _do_ this. He is a mechanic from Ohio, with a two-year associate's degree in oil changes and just enough smarts to balance his finances most weeks whose only experience with time travel was watching _Back to the Future_ on a date with a girl who wasn't even close to being the one. He doesn't know what he's doing. And all these people, all these smart people who've been here for years, doing stuff he can't imagine --

They're all looking at him like he's gonna tell them what to do next and he's making it up off the cuff and he has no idea what he's gotten right or what he's gotten wrong and what if he gets it all wrong, what if he screws the future up beyond repair, what if he --

If he loses them. If he loses Kurt, or Brittany, or Blaine, or even Mike Chang, who is a hell of a dancer and a nice kid to boot and deserves his safe life in Ohio away from all this shit.

It's just... It's just all so goddamn _much_. 

And the worst thing is that at some indeterminate point, the kids land on the couch next to him, Brittany on his left, Kurt on his right. Brittany lays her head on his shoulder, and Kurt wraps his arms around him, and Burt knows damn well he should stop but it's not as easy as all that now that he's really got going.

Kurt didn't even see him cry like this when Annie died.

And he can't stop.

"It's okay," Brittany says, which might actually be the only thing worse than Kurt consoling him right now -- he's not even sure why; it just is. "It's okay to be sad sometimes. Everyone does it. I read it in a book."

Kurt doesn't say anything at all; he just holds on tight, like he's holding Burt together.

The hell of it is, that's basically exactly what's happening. And all Burt can do is cry and cry until he's finally cried himself out.

It takes a lot longer than he'd like. 

The kids stay with him for all of it, holding on.

 

*

 

An empty rocking chair on a porch.

_How does it make you feel, Ethan?_

Ben lying on the sand, unconscious, glasses off, blood welling from a cut on his forehead.

"I discovered my destiny, Hugo. And now it's Ben's turn."

_Won't you tell me what's wrong?_

The moon over the water. 

A dragging sound. Splashing. Waves.

_It wasn't your fault._

He starts counting back from fifty.

_Forty-four. Forty-three._

_Forty-two._

A harsh metallic banging, like drums. 

And then... Then it clears, like fog passing away, and it's just dark. Not night; it's daytime, but they're in the jungle, so deep in the jungle. Far away from the cabin, and the pictures, and Ethan's father, asking _How does it make you feel?_ And Ethan's just a child, small and round-cheeked, his hair not quite blonde but definitely lighter than it is now that he's grown up. He's still in his DHARMA clothes -- t-shirt and jeans and sneakers. 

And Blaine's father is younger too, his face unlined; he's wearing the weird, old clothes their people used to wear, and his hair is thicker. He holds his hand out to Ethan. It's grubby, and there's dirt under his nails, but that's not why Ethan hesitates to take it.

He's scared. Because he doesn't think he deserves it. Because he thinks it's all his fault.

But it's not.

"It's okay," Blaine says, and his father can't hear him but Ethan seems to, somehow. He looks at Blaine, eyes wide. He's so scared. "It's okay," Blaine says again. "Go ahead. Take his hand."

Ethan stares at him for a long time. Then he turns back to Blaine's father -- he's still waiting, so patiently -- and very slowly, tentatively reaches out.

He puts his hand in Blaine's father's.

Everything goes white.

The tight, painful grip on Blane's wrist eases, and he sort of topples backward, but not very far. Someone catches him -- _is he okay is this some weird mind-reading thing like does it wear you out is it hard it's probably hard should i_ \-- Cooper, kind but confused and holding him up even as he wonders if Blaine would be better off with someone else to take his weight, and Blaine takes a couple of deep breaths and tries to steady himself.

"Is he okay?" Sun asks, and Blaine shakes his head, forces his eyes open.

It's so bright. The light off the water; it's so bright. But he can't close his eyes again, not now. He has to...

There's something heavy on his legs, dead weight. He looks down, sees Ethan sprawled half on top of him. The knife is still in his back, and Ana has a hand on his neck, fingers feeling for a pulse that Blaine can already tell her she won't find. 

"He's gone," he says, and Ana looks up at him. Guilty. Sad. "He only stayed long enough to tell me..." His throat closes off unexpectedly, and he can't do this, not right now. He has to be strong. He has to save his father. "Locke's got my dad. He's taking him back to the Island. We've gotta go, and we've gotta go right now. We've got to --"

He tries to stand up, can't quite move with Ethan on top of him and Cooper so close behind. But then Cooper starts moving -- _gotta get him up, gotta go, dead body on his legs can't be good did he hear Ethan die how is he_ \-- shifting and standing and pulling Blaine with him, arms still tight around him, voice a constant litany in Blaine's ear, almost soothing after so long in Ethan's head, after that sudden silence.

Ana stands too, ankle deep in the water. She's not looking at Blaine and Cooper; she's looking at someone behind them. Blaine can't hear anyone but Cooper, but the expression on Ana's face tells him exactly who's standing there

"Did you know?" Ana asks. She draws her gun from the back of her pants, points it past them. "Did you know this would happen?" Her finger's not on the trigger, and the safety's still on, but it wouldn't take much for that to change. 

Cooper's arms tighten around Blaine and pull him slightly to the side. 

"He said no one would get hurt."

Blaine stiffens; he's only heard that voice once, but it doesn't mean he doesn't know it. _Jack_.

"He said -- He said he just wanted to talk to Ben," Jack says; he sounds stunned, confused. Blaine's not sure he buys it. "That's all. He said no one would get hurt."

"Yeah, well," Ana says. She doesn't lower the gun. "Look how that turned out."

"It doesn't have to be like this," Jack says; he steps forward -- Cooper tightens his arms around Blaine, pulls him back further. "I can... I can fix this. Let me help him. I can --"

"He's gone!" Blaine says it louder this time, and when Cooper tries to keep him safely away from Jack, Blaine pushes forward, breaking free of his grip. "I _felt_ it -- I felt him die, and I... I saw my father. Locke has my father." He's in Jack's face now, yelling now, and he doesn't have time for this but he can't seem to stop himself either. "Locke has my father and you can't _fix_ that! You can't bring Ethan back! It's too late. It's..." He looks at Ana, gun finally lowered, watching him with that same guilt on her face; he looks at Sun, her expression stern.

Then he turns to Cooper. 

_he needs me won't let him down._

"It's too late to take it back," Blaine says, and he's not sure when this all became about him, but then maybe it always was. 

_It's you_ , Walt told him once. _It's always been you._

"But it's not too late to stop it from getting worse," he says. "I know where the boats are. I know... I can find my father. But I can't take Locke on my own. I need help. Someone who knows him, who knows what he's planning. I need information, Jack, and you're the only one who has it."

"You're right," Jack says, and Blaine can't hear him; he can't even really hear Cooper anymore. The babble in his head is whisper-quiet and growing fainter all the time, like whatever happened when he felt Ethan die is finally ending. And it would be okay, it really would -- it's not like he needs to read Cooper's thoughts to know exactly what he's thinking.

But Jack is different. Because he's hiding something, something big, and Blaine doesn't know what it is but he knows Jack can't be trusted. He's going to have to play a very dangerous and delicate game to save his father, and he's not sure he can win. 

But he still has to try. 

"You're right," Jack says again, sad-eyed and repentant and Blaine can't trust him at all. "I -- I know what Locke wants. And I'll help you. If you'll have me."

Sun and Ana look at each other, nod slightly. Then Ana turns back to Jack. "You stay with me," she says. "Try anything, and --" She holds the gun up for a few beats, then tucks it back into her waistband again. "Cooper, Sun, stay close to Blaine. Keep an eye on him. Cooper, you still got that knife?"

"Yeah," Cooper says, and pats at his belt, where the knife he's been using to cut mangoes is dangling in a makeshift sheath. "Yeah, I've got it."

"All right," Ana says, and then she looks at Blaine. He tries not to think of how, just a few hours ago, she used to look at his dad that way. "Well. You know where the boats are."

"Yeah," Blaine says, and straightens up. They've let Locke get enough of a head start as it is. It's time to go. "Okay. Follow me."

 

*

 

Horace passes out sometime around 3 am. By then, he's at least a dozen beers in, and Roger's pretty sure he's not gonna wake back up again. He still takes the time to write a note saying he's gone to find Ben, just in case Horace is an insomniac of a drunk. Leaves it on the table, underneath an ashtray, and heads out, flashlight on his belt, gun holstered at his hip.

Once he's on the sidewalk, he hesitates. Bringing Kate into this... Well. It's a dangerous move. She never did like him much, and having her around Horace could make things risky for him. If she suspects, if she even has the slightest idea what he's up to...

But then, she'll have her hands plenty full dealing with Horace for the next couple days, and a couple days is all he really needs. Plus, she'll keep Horace busy and out of his hair, which is what he needs most right now. Can't have Horace coming to cry on his shoulder when he's got Richard waiting for him out in the jungle. Better to let them distract each other, while he does what the Island wants him to do.

He turns and heads down the walkway towards Kate's house.

She's already on the porch, beer sweating on the table next to her, although he's willing to bet what savings he's got that she hasn't taken more than a sip of it all night. Her eyes settle on him as he walks up towards her, but her face never changes. She really does hate his guts. 

He wonders who he reminds her of. Her dad, maybe? Ex-boyfriend? Both?

Not like it matters, anyway. 

"Evening, Kate," he says, polite as he can muster. No reason to make her any more suspicious of him than she already is. "He inside?"

She doesn't move. "You want me to get him?"

"Nah," he says. Smiles. She doesn't smile back. "Figure with Horace crashing on my couch and all, I can see why he wouldn't be real comfortable at home. Just... wanted to make sure he was in a safe place for the night."

"Yeah," Kate says, grim. "Yeah, he's safe."

It's not the first time he's thought that Kate suspects him. Hell, sometimes he wonders if she doesn't already know. She and Richard had a long talk that first night. She doesn't act like it, but that's all the Hostiles ever do, acting. Some days Roger thinks this is all still just some game they're playing.

But it's too late to bow out now. Win or lose, he's in it for the long haul.

"Good to know," he says. "Speaking of Horace, though. He's... Well, he's pretty bad off. And I've got him for the night, but I've got a supply run out to the Swan first thing in the morning. Do you think maybe, after you get Ben off to school, you could check in on him? Make sure... make sure he's got someone with him, when he wakes up."

Kate stares for a long moment; rare to take her by surprise like that. "You want me to check in on Horace for you," she repeats.

"I remember what I was like, when my wife died," Roger says, and that at least is the truth. Sometimes he wonders, if he could've done things different -- Maybe he wouldn't be where he is now. Maybe he wouldn't be doing what he's about to do. But it's too late now; what happened happened. All he can do is ride the train 'til it crashes. "A friendly face would do him a world of good, you know? Remind him he's not alone."

And just for a second, Kate's face softens. "Yeah," she says, softly. "Of course. I'll check on him for you."

"Thank you," he says, taking pains to make it as sincere as possible. 

Kate doesn't say anything; she just nods. 

"Well," Roger says, and flashes her a quick grin. "Night, then." And he turns and walks away.

And when he reaches his own house, he just keeps going. Out of the neighborhood, away from the central group of buildings, heading out towards the green of the jungle. 

Richard won't be waiting for him; they're not meeting until tomorrow. But he'll have left instructions, the where and the when of it, and Roger needs to get them as quickly as possible. There's not a lot of time left, and he knows damn well the Hostiles are only going to give him one shot at doing this right. 

And it occurs to him that maybe he'd be better off failing. Maybe he should quit before he does something he'll regret for the rest of his life.

But it's too late. Right or wrong, win or lose. He made the Island a promise, and he's not dumb enough to think he can renege now.

 

*

 

He's halfway to the boats when something stops him. A glint of light in the sand, the sun reflecting off something shiny.

His father's glasses.

He sniffles, hard, and Cooper's there immediately, crouching next to him with one hand on his shoulder. 

"We'll get him back," he says, and Blaine looks at him with watery eyes. "Okay, Blainey? We'll get him back. I promise."

Blaine just nods, because he can't talk. He looks out at the ocean, at the Island in the distance. 

"Whatever it takes."

It's a promise Cooper is going to regret making; Blaine knows that better than anyone. But it doesn't matter anyway. The Island will get what the Island wants, sooner or later.

"Thanks, Coop," he says, and picks the glasses up, and carefully puts them in a pocket of his shorts. 

"You should come with us," Ana's saying; she and Lapidus are by the two remaining boats. "Bring the boat back with you. It'll be easier to evacuate the others."

He shakes his head. "All respect, Ana, but I've got a lot more work to do before I can convince anyone to leave, let alone all of 'em. Best thing for me to do is to get back and keep working on them. You do your job; I'll do mine."

"If that's the way you want it, Frank --"

"It's not, really, but it's the way it is. Hey, listen --" Then he leans in close, whispers, too soft for Blaine to hear. 

Ana turns, looks uneasily at Jack, standing with his feet in the water and his shoes in his hands, staring out at the Island, and Blaine knows exactly what Lapidus is saying.

He's right, of course. If they take Jack with them, they're playing right into his hands. They're doing exactly what he and Locke want them to do. But the problem is, there aren't any options Blaine can see. His father might have been able to come up with something better, but his father is in Locke's hands, and Blaine has to get him back.

_Whatever it takes._

"Come on," he says, and makes a beeline for the boat on the left, cutting Ana and Frank off mid-discussion. "It's time to go."

"Be careful," Lapidus says, as Sun brushes past him, helping Blaine pull the boat down to the water. "And that goes for all of you."

They don't really have time for it, but Blaine turns back to him anyway. "There's a light," he says, pointing. "A beacon on the Island, next to the old DHARMA docks. When you start evacuating the others, that's what you need to aim for. We'll leave our boat there for you."

"Appreciate it." Lapidus stuffs his hands in his pockets, looks at Blaine for a second, and then says, "I hope you find your dad, kiddo. I really do."

Blaine can't really speak; he just nods. 

They get the boat into the water and clamber in -- Blaine in front, the others all behind. The Island is ahead of him, waiting.

 _Whatever it takes._

He picks up his oar and starts to paddle.

 

*

 

There are two plastic cups of sedative-laced orange juice on the table in front of them, and an unsmiling man in a DHARMA jumpsuit standing by the door, waiting.

"You sure you want to do this?" Daniel asks. 

He already knows what Charlotte is going to say, of course he does. But part of him is still hoping that he's wrong.

"What, and stay here by myself?" Charlotte asks, grinning at him. God, she's beautiful when she smiles. Three years with her has been... amazing. More than he'd ever dared to hope for. But it's not enough. It could never be enough. "With my winning lottery tickets and my ridiculously profitable investments in Apple and Microsoft?"

"I'm just saying," Dan says. He glances over his shoulder at their bodyguard, then leans in a little. "You didn't have the best reaction when we went back in time, and I don't --"

"Because I was already there," Charlotte reminds him, laying a hand over his. "Remember? You saw me yourself, that first night, running by the swingset with my pigtails and my little polka-dot dress. But I'm long gone by now. Back in Essex. There's nothing to worry about anymore."

The thing is, Dan really wants to believe her. He really does. 

He just... doesn't.

"What's the matter?" Charlotte adds, still grinning at him. So easy; she's always made everything so easy. "Don't want me meeting your friend Brittany?"

Dan actually laughs at that, shakes his head. "Brittany," he says, "is sixteen. She's a child. An extraordinary child, I grant you, but. I just want to see her get home safe. That's all."

Charlotte squeezes his hand. "And you will," she says. So easy. "You'll get all of us home safe again. I've got faith in you."

It's too hard not to smile back at her, so he lets himself. "All right," he says. "As long as one of us does."

Charlotte's the first to reach for her orange juice; she holds up it up, grinning, and waits. 

Finally, Dan takes his plastic cup in hand, holds it out, taps the rim of it against hers.

"Cheers," Charlotte says, and downs hers in one gulp.

Daniel closes his eyes and does the same.

 

*

 

He comes to slowly, forehead pounding and stinging, body cramped and awkwardly twisted. He's tied up -- one hand pulled close to his chest, the other bent awkwardly behind his back, the rope so tight between the two that moving one pulls painfully on the other. The wound on his forehead burns like antiseptic's been smeared in it, although Ben wonders if the sticky substance isn't something more sinister. Knowing his captor, it almost certainly is.

He opens his eyes. Nothing but green; the jungle blurred before him. Looks like Locke didn't think to grab his glasses for him. 

How inconsiderate.

"I'm genuinely sorry for this, Ben," an unfamiliar voice says from somewhere behind him. Ben doesn't need to recognize it to know who it is. The slow-simmering anger inside him is ready to boil over, which is fine, because he's going to let it. The time for civilization has long since passed. "But you need to let go of some things. And I'm here to help you with that."

 _Let go._ He could almost laugh. 

He spits instead.

There's a long pause, almost as if Locke is offended. Then there's a whistling, and a knife lands solidly in the ground, a good foot in front of Ben. He'll have to hurt himself to get to it. 

Locke killed Ethan with a knife thrown with that same casual skill. 

If Ben has to chew his arm off to get to that damned knife, he'll do it.

"When you're motivated enough," Locke says, and this time Ben does laugh. There's a certain kind of pleasure in the way that unseen voice falters, stops, has to restart. "When you're motivated enough, you'll be able to get yourself free."

"Oh don't worry," Ben says, even though he's sure Locke's already on the move. "I'm motivated."

Then he goes for the knife, ignoring the twisting of the rope around his wrists and neck. Locke chose to pull his injured arm behind his back, and the shoulder's screaming before he's moved more than two inches forward, but Ben ignores it. He'll pop it back in its socket later. 

Locke brought them to this Island. Locke separated Ben from his son. Locke killed Ethan.

And now Locke's given Ben a knife.

Ben'll be damned if he doesn't kill Locke with it.


	8. Knives Out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Separated once again, Ben and Blaine struggle to find each other on the Island where everything began. But John Locke is determined to keep them apart, and he's not the only dangerous thing on the Island. There's something far worse, and it's coming.

Ben doesn't even wait for Locke to finish speaking; he just, like, totally goes for the knife. Hurley'd cheer, if Locke wasn't standing right next to him with a gun. 

Also, if he wasn't gagged. Or if his hands weren't tied together, so he could undo the gag, and then cheer. That would work.

"I guess he is motivated," Locke says, very quietly. 

Of course he's motivated -- Locke just killed Ethan. And, okay, before Hurley wound up on Hydra Island, he totally would've thought that Ethan and Ben hated each other. But then he actually saw them together, and now he kind of thinks there was a lot more going on.

But he can't tell Locke that, either. Which maybe is for the best, now that he thinks about it. If Locke doesn't know just how mad Ben really is, then maybe -- 

Maybe he'll underestimate him. 

And maybe Hurley can help.

Maybe that's why Walt wanted him there. 

Hurley stays really quiet and really still, and he waits. 

Ben lets out one choked, gasping sound, then strains forward a little further. It's hard to say how far. Maybe an inch or so. But he gets that little bit further forward, and then he springs back so abruptly it's like something pulled him. Hurley's scared for a second. But Ben stays there, shifting back and forth a little. A quiet gasp, and his right arm comes out to the side, fingers wiggling like he's trying to get the feeling back in them. He pulls his arm back in -- tugs, loosens, shifts, and the rest of the ropes fall away.

"I have to say," Locke says, even quieter than before. "That is very impressive." 

Personally, Hurley thinks Locke should be more scared than impressed, because Ben's already like ninety percent free, and even as they stand there watching, he makes it the rest of the way, shaking the ropes off and standing up, knife in hand. 

The thing is, Hurley wants Locke stopped as much as anyone else does. He's just kind of wondering if Ben is going to stop Locke, or if he's going to, like... _Kill_ Locke.

He's really starting to wonder if Locke thought this through enough.

Ben stands there for a long moment, head cocked to one side, listening. Hurley wonders what he could hear. Like, if he sort of just... stepped sideways, just making a little noise. He could make it look like an accident, like he just slipped.

Or maybe he could just run. Even if he didn't make it far. Ben's close, he could totally --

Locke's hand grabs Hurley's wrist, just above the rope. He doesn't say anything, just shakes his head, his eyes a clear warning.

The thing is, Hurley knows that Locke's not going to shoot him. Even back on Hydra Island; he might've knocked Hurley out or, like, shot him in the shoulder or something. But he's not going to kill Hurley. He needs him. Not for any real reason, but. He needs a hostage.

And if Ben sees Hurley standing there with Locke's gun to his head, he'll put down the knife and go quietly. 

So Hurley doesn't move or make a sound; he just waits.

Ben listens, and listens, and then he turns. Looks to the right, looks to the left. Then he looks right at where Hurley and Locke are standing. Hurley's not sure Ben can see them; he doesn't have his glasses on, and Hurley's not real sure how bad his eyes are. Then Ben takes a step forward. Then another. Then another.

Hurley stays as quiet as he can, but he's pretty sure Ben can hear the pounding of his heart.

Ben takes one more step forward, and then he hesitates. Turns, looks off to the left. His hand tightens on the knife in his hand. 

"Blaine?" he calls, sounding suddenly panicked, and Hurley's so surprised he almost falls over backwards. And it kind of makes a lot of noise, but Ben doesn't even turn to look at him. 

"Blaine!" he calls again, and then "I'm coming!"

And just like that, he's running in the wrong direction, away from Locke and Hurley and towards something...

Hurley doesn't know where he's going, but he knows it's somewhere bad. He knows because when he looks at Locke, Locke is smiling.

"Come on Hugo," he says and uses his grip on Hurley's wrist to pull him forward. "Time to go."

 

*

 

"Dad!"

Scared. Not hurt. Not yet, anyway. Ben keeps running toward the sound of his son's voice, tries to focus on him, only on him. Tries not to think about what Locke said.

_you need to let go_

If anything happens to Blaine -- 

"Dad, please!"

Ben runs faster.

 

*

 

There's already a boat pulled up on the beach next to the docks; a good sign, Blaine thinks. This is where Locke came ashore; this is where he took Blaine's father. He can't be too far ahead of them. Hopefully. 

"All right," Ana says. Jack holds out a hand to help her out of the boat; she glares at him and then climbs out on her own, carefully placing herself between Jack and Blaine as she does so. "We're here. Locke's here, somewhere. So now what?"

"You said you could find your father," Sun says, quietly.

Blaine looks up at Cooper, standing next to him. "Kind of," he says. "I... It's complicated. I can hear him, if I listen, but sometimes I need --"

Cooper's hand closes around Blaine's wrist, a lot gentler than Ethan's. It still hurts; Ethan's grip left bruises. 

_he's flinching is it hurting him should i --_

"You're doing great," Blaine says, and the startled look Cooper gives him almost makes him laugh. "But you can hold my hand, if you'd rather. That's what my dad and I did, when I --" He doesn't finish the sentence; can't, really.

Ethan knew. Blaine always thought so, but still -- Ethan knew. And he never said anything; Blaine's positive. He knew, and he said nothing, and now he's died with that secret, and for just a second, it's so hard --

"Easy," Cooper says, helps him sit down on the hard wood of the dock. "Easy, easy."

Blaine's crying, although it takes him a second to realize it. Cooper's faster than he is, reaches up a hand to wipe tears off his cheeks. "Sorry," Blaine says.

"Don't be," Cooper says. _poor kid jesus i wonder how well they knew each other that must've been scary i was scared can't imagine --_ "Take a second. Catch your breath."

"Just don't take too long," Ana says, coming up the beach, Jack trailing after her. "It'll start getting dark soon. If we don't find your dad before it does --"

_jesus lady he's sixteen how can you --_

"Coop," Blaine says, even though he's only responding to a voice inside his head -- it's almost worth it for that startled look again, the blinking as Ana realizes just what's going on. He looks up at her. "There should be some supplies in the old DHARMA intake station over there. Don't know if the flashlights'll still work, but. You can probably find something to make torches out of."

"I'll go," Jack says, immediately; he takes off toward the building.

"Wait," Ana calls out, following after him, one hand on her gun. 

Sun reaches out to stop her. "I'll go," she says. "Stay with Cooper and Blaine. They need you more."

"I'm not sure --"

"Stay with Cooper and Blaine," Sun says again, and some of the fight seems to go out of Ana; she even takes a couple of steps back. "I'll be fine." 

Ana looks over at Blaine and Cooper, still holding hands, then looks back at Sun. "Be careful," she says, sternly.

Sun just shakes her head and follows Jack, leaving Ana standing awkwardly on the beach.

"She's right," Blaine says, and Ana looks at him, that guilty expression back on her face. "I'm kind of gonna be... stuck here, for a while. So is Cooper. We could really use a bodyguard right now."

Ana takes a deep breath, nodding. "Okay," she says. "You got one."

Blaine turns back to Cooper, settled cross-legged in front of him. "Okay," he says. "Ready?"

Cooper extends his other hand, and Blaine takes it. "Anything else?" Cooper asks.

"Um." Because there is, sort of, but Blaine's scared to ask him for it. But his dad needs him, so he pushes past and says, "When I did it, the first few times, I would sing to myself. Because my dad used to sing me to sleep, so I --"

"I take requests," Cooper says, and gives him a reassuring smile _oh thank god something i can do just don't think of anything inappropriate probably not kanye or --_

"No Kanye," Blaine says, and Cooper still startles but he also sort of laughs at the same time. "Just. Anything like a lullaby. That would work."

Cooper nods, and squeezes Blaine's hands. Then, very softly, he starts singing:

_Mother cannot guide you;_  
_Now you're on your own._  
_Only me beside you --_

And it's not, maybe, what Blaine would've wanted to hear. But coming from Cooper, especially, it's enough. It's more than enough.

_No one is alone, truly  
No one is alone_

He closes his eyes, opens himself up, and listens.

 

*

 

It's getting darker. It'll be night soon. 

Ben forces himself to stop running anyway, to stand still and just listen for a moment.

The jungle is so quiet. He almost wonders if he ever heard his son's voice at all. Some trick of Locke's, perhaps? Leading him somewhere, guiding him --

"Blaine?" he calls, because he can't take that chance. He can't afford to doubt whether or not his son's in danger. The stakes are too high.

Nothing. He tries again.

"Blaine! Can you hear me?"

_"Dad?"_

It's everywhere and nowhere all at once, echoing, distorted. Ben puts one hand to his forehead, feels it come away sticky. There are a few different plants in the jungle with hallucinogenic properties; he wonders...

_"Dad, can you hear me?"_

But this, he thinks, is real. 

"I hear you!" he calls, unsure if he even needs to; he doesn't know if Blaine is in earshot, isn't sure if it matters. Blaine will hear him regardless. "Blaine! I can hear you! Where are you?"

_"By the docks."_ There's a pause, unsure, and then Blaine says, _"Dad. We're not on Hydra Island anymore. We're --"_

Ben can even hear the thought Blaine tries so hard to muffle: _Home._ They're home.

It doesn't look any more familiar than Hydra Island did, but Ben's not about to say that out loud.

_"We're at the docks by the Barracks,"_ Blaine says. 

"Sit tight," Ben calls back. "I'll come to you. Stay where you are. Are you safe? Is anyone with you?"

_"Cooper's here, he's --"_

There's a rustling in the undergrowth; Ben stiffens, tightens his hold on the knife in his hand. Locke would choose this moment to appear, of course.

_"Dad?"_

Ben can't call out this time; he crouches down low, waits. He probably won't get more than one chance. He'll have to make it count.

_"Dad!"_

Finally, a figure breaks through the undergrowth. The familiar khaki jumpsuit, brown boots. Ben feels his blood run cold. 

Slowly, very slowly, he straightens up, only to find himself face-to-face with his father.

"Dad?" he asks.

_"Dad!"_

Roger smirks, that same look he used to get when Ben was younger, those rare occasions when his father thought he had one up on someone. 

Then he turns and heads off again. 

_"Dad, please!"_

Helpless, Ben follows.

 

*

 

Actually, the flashlights still do work. Sun checks hers a few times, on and off and then on again, lets the beam play along the walls. They're crowded with pictures, most of them hanging crooked, dusty with long neglect.

"What do you think this place was, anyway?" Jack asks, opening a drawer. He pulls out a syringe, studies it with a faintly disgusted expression.

"Juliet brought me here a long time ago,” Sun says. “Just before I left the Island. She said it's where they brought the new DHARMA recruits after they arrived. To give them their job assignments and uniforms. So these pictures...”

She drifts closer to the wall of photos, scanning until she finds what she’s looking for. 

DHARMA NEW RECRUITS 1977.

Close behind her, she hears Jack ask, "Is that... Kate?"

"You remember her?" Sun asks; she knows she saw him with her a few times, but she wasn't aware they were especially close, and he has been gone a long time.

"You remembered me," Jack points out, and grins at her. "Kate, and Charlie, and... Shannon." He points them out, one-by-one. "How the hell did they end up back there?"

"Apparently Ethan moved the Island." Sun doesn't bother watching him for a response; surely he remembers it anyway. She moves on down the row of pictures, seeking. Then, "There," she says. "1981. Kurt, Burt, and Brittany."

"Okay," Jack says, still grinning. "Them, I don't remember."

"That's because you weren't on that flight, Jack." Sun looks up at him -- careful not to glare, careful to keep her anger hidden, but Jack still backs up a step. "They came with us, on Ajira 316." She waits for him to take a second step back before turning back to the picture. "At least now we know for sure where they are," she says. "I should take this to Blaine, I'm sure he'd like to --"

There's a strange screeching sound from outside, then a sort of... chittering, recognizable even after so long off the Island, and Sun freezes. 

"Stay here," Jack says, and before Sun can even try to stop him, he's dashing for the door.

Sun crosses the room to follow him, makes it all the way to the door before she hears that unearthly screeching and stops short, paralyzed.

“Jack?” she calls.

There’s a roar, and the building shakes; Sun drops her flashlight.

It goes out, leaving her in darkness.

 

*

 

Something's wrong.

His father heard him; he knows it. He heard, he was responding, and then --

Blaine needs more. He digs deep, concentrates

_children will listen --_

_though it's fearful, though it's dark and it's deep and you may lose --_

There. His father, running through the shadows of the rapidly darkening jungle, moving away from the Barracks, chasing someone, chasing -- 

_"This is for your own good."_

Oh God.

"Dad!" he calls out, and his dad hesitates, like he can almost hear, but can't quite -- "Dad, stop, he's not real, that's not -- It isn't him! Dad! DAD!"

_"You know, Benjamin, I'm disappointed in you. Everything I did for you, so you could be somebody, really make something of yourself, and now look at you."_

"Dad, no, please, don't --"

_"It's that boy of yours,"_ and then the figure shifts, slightly, bulking up, losing the jumpsuit and the hair, and Blaine's never seen John Locke and he has no idea if his father has, but that doesn't mean he doesn't know who it is. 

_"Time to let go, Ben."_

And then he hears his own voice, screaming, begging.

_"Dad, please! Dad! He's gonna kill me, Dad, please --"_

"Dad, that's not me, don't listen to him, don't --"

His father keeps running, towards the voice, away from him. 

In the distance, he hears a strange metallic sound.

 

*

 

It's sort of like being a bodyguard at a seance. Blaine sits there, holding Cooper's hands, eyes closed. And Cooper sings, something vaguely familiar -- a musical, maybe? Ana was never much into them but she went to a few anyway; they do the big things at the Hollywood Bowl, and sometimes she'd go just for curiosity's sake. Doogie Howser was in one once. He wasn't bad. But Cooper sings (he's actually pretty decent), and Blaine sits, and Ana stands there with one hand on her gun and wishes she could do something. Run somewhere, shoot someone, rescue Ben, do something. 

Then she hears that weird, quiet clicking in the distance, that chittering sound that's too familiar, and she's moving before she can think about it, grabbing Cooper by the shoulders and shaking him. 

He breaks off mid-song and blinks at her. "What are you --"

"Get him out of whatever trance he's in and get moving," she says. The sky's getting dark fast, too fast, and she can hear it again, closer now. That weird chattering noise. "Come on, come on, we have to go."

"What?" Cooper asks again. "Why? What's going --"

A roar from further along the beach, thumping and splintering noises like trees getting smashed, and Cooper stares at Ana for five seconds solid before pulling his hands away from Blaine's and grabbing him by the shoulders instead, shaking him the way Ana shook Cooper. "Blaine? Blaine, come on, we gotta go, we gotta --"

Blaine tugs away from him, eyes still closed, resisting. " _Dad_ ," he says, desperately. 

"I know, and I'm sorry, but we gotta go, Blaine, I need you to --"

Ana takes two steps back, looks up at the sky beyond the intake station. The clouds are gathering fast, but she can still see a darker pillar against them. The Smoke. "Carry him if you have to, Cooper, but we gotta go and we gotta go now."

Ever-obedient, Cooper grabs Blaine by the armpits and hauls him up to standing. "Sorry about this, bud, but we gotta --"

And that when Blaine finally decides to rejoin his body, eyes opening wide as he gasps for breath, whole body shuddering. "I could see him," he says, panting for breath. "I could see him but -- He couldn't -- He was right there and then he --"

The Monster roars, and Blaine turns abruptly, looks up at the sky. 

Then he looks down at the intake station. "Sun," he says, quietly. "Jack."

The smoke rears up, like it's chosen its first target, and Ana makes the only decision she can.

She grabs Blaine and yanks him off the dock, pulls Cooper down after him, pushes them out in front of her. "Run!" she shouts.

The monster roars behind them as the rain starts hammering down. 

They run.

 

*

 

Rain makes his footing treacherous; he stumbles, falls, gets back up. Mud on his clothing and rain running into his eyes. He's more or less blind at this point, barely able to hear over the pounding of the rain and the distant grumbling of something that is not quite thunder. Disoriented. Afraid. Not really sure if his father is ahead of him or behind him, chasing him. Not sure if he's running away from the Barracks or running to them.

He doesn't even know where the knife is -- he dropped it somewhere in the jungle and never found it again.

He runs anyway. 

"Dad!" And that voice -- that is enough to snap him back into clarity, coherency. "Dad, I'm over here!"

"Blaine!" He turns, orienting himself to the sound. "I'm close! Keep talking to me!"

"Dad!" Breathless gratitude, relief -- Ben wipes the water and mud from his face, moves quick and careful and sure. He knows where he's going, now. "Dad, I'm sorry! I should've stayed closer to the others, I shouldn't have -- But you were gone so long, and I --"

"Don't worry about that now." Blaine's voice comes closer with every step Ben takes and it's amazing how much easier it is to breathe, just hearing him. Knowing he's still alive. "Are you alone? Is anyone with you?"

"I'm --" Blaine's voice breaks off suddenly, fear in it, and Ben moves faster. Not now. Not now that he's so close, not -- "Dad? There's someone --"

Ben breaks into a dead sprint. 

Seconds later, he comes to a clearing, bursts through. It's almost fully dark now, but he's adjusted, and he can see his son standing in the center. 

He can see his father standing next to him.

"Dad?" Blaine asks, voice trembling, visibly on the verge of tears. He's still in Kurt's ridiculous shirt and shorts, his hair plastered to his head, and it's almost impossible for Ben to stay where he is. But the man next to Blaine -- the man who absolutely cannot be Ben's father -- he shot his father in the face, he knows --

But whoever he is, he's holding Blaine hostage, and Ben is going to be careful.

He takes a step into the clearing, hands in the air. "It's all right, Blaine," he says, keeping his voice level. "It's going to be all right."

"You sure about that, kiddo?" It even sounds like Ben's father, that same false-friendly voice. He grabs Blaine by the wrist, drags him in close, and Blaine closes his eyes tight. "Don't make promises you can't keep."

"It doesn't have to be like this," Ben says. Another step. "Just let him go. He's a child. He's never done anything to hurt you."

"He's done everything to hurt me," the man says, twisting Blaine's arm up behind him, and Blaine lets out a tiny whimpering sound. "You were supposed to be important, Benjamin! You were supposed to be the one. Everything I did, I did it for you, to get you where you needed to be. You were going to be their Leader. And you threw it all away for him?"

He shakes Blaine, and it takes everything Ben has to hold still.

"You were going to be important," Ben's father says. "What are you now?"

Blaine's eyes open wide, fix on his father's, and Ben takes a deep breath.

"I'm a father," he says. "What could be more important than that?"

Blaine's whole body tenses.

Ben's father just shakes his head. "Now that," he says, "is the dumbest thing I have ever heard."

Blaine lifts his chin slightly, and Ben slips a hand into his pocket, feeling for the outline of his baton. 

"Yeah, well," Ben says, eyes on his son. "You never really did understand me. Thank God I had Miss Katie, or I never would've amounted to anything."

Roger takes a single step forward, and that's when Blaine moves, diving and rolling, dragging Roger down into the mud with him. The moment they're down, Ben lunges, pulling the baton out of his pocket and snapping it so it extends, lashing out at his father as the man rolls in the mud. He gets a good blow to the man's back, enough to make him finally let go, another to the knees and a third across his abdomen, and then Blaine's up on his feet, grabbing at Ben's arm. 

"Come on, come on," he pants, dragging, and Ben lets himself be pulled away, doesn't even spare a final glance for his father down in the mud. He takes his son's hand and they run, together, out of the clearing and into the jungle.

 

*

 

The third time Blaine stumbles, Cooper wraps an arm around his waist to hold him up. He's not sure what's going on -- it's raining like the world is going to flood and there's this roaring noise all around them and a sort of chattery noise like a really old printer and he's pretty sure there's something back there but he doesn't want to turn around to see what it is -- but he knows Blaine's not all the way back. Part of him is still with his dad, wherever his dad is right now.

"I don't suppose we have somewhere to run to," he calls out, looking back at Ana; she glowers at him for a second, then pushes past and takes the lead, leaving Cooper to struggle after her, ankle deep in the ocean, sucked down by the sand, carrying half Blaine's weight.

The funny thing is how it sort of makes Cooper feel calmer, knowing that Blaine's relying on him. 

Fifty feet in, the jungle intrudes abruptly on the beach, a steep slope tangled with tree roots. Ana doesn't hesitate; she starts climbing immediately. Cooper follows, pushing Blaine along in front of him.

Blaine glances back over his shoulder, dark eyes wide, still out of it. 

"It's okay," Cooper says. Ten feet above them, Ana has stopped, waiting. "We won't let you fall."

Blaine nods, then grabs the first tree root he can and starts climbing.

It's slower than it should be, clinging to the slippery tree roots as they haul themselves up the slope. Cooper still doesn't know what's behind them, but he's pretty sure it's a lot faster than they are; he has no idea why it hasn't gotten them yet. But gift horses, whatever that means. He pushes Blaine up from below and lets Ana pull him from above and they make their way up inch by inch despite the rain trying to wash them back down again.

_Itsy-bitsy spider._

Okay, so maybe Cooper isn't as much calm as he is hysterical, but at least he hasn't started screaming yet, and that's something, right?

Ana reaches the top of the slope, turns around immediately, and grabs for Blaine's hands. He reaches back, feet slipping on the roots; Cooper lets go of his own hold with one hand to give Blaine the best boost he can manage, fingers tight around Blaine's bare ankle, feeling the wet skin, the tight muscles underneath, the ridges of bone. He heaves, and Ana pulls, and Blaine makes it up. 

The thing below them makes this weird sort of coffee machine bubbling noise, or maybe it's like the creaking of a pulley, or maybe it's something else entirely, and Cooper can't help it. He turns back. Looks.

All he sees is smoke, coiling around the base of the slope. Thick black smoke, with this sort of flashing light in it, and he can feel his grip on the roots loosening, and he should probably stop looking at the lights but he can't quite make himself do it.

"Cooper!" Blaine's voice, desperate, calls him out of it. He looks back up at the top of the slope, so close now, sees Blaine reaching back for him, and he takes a deep breath and starts hauling himself up. 

"Coming," he mutters, clinging to the wet, slippery roots even as his feet lose purchase. Good thing he put all that time in at the gym. He pulls himself up high enough to find a better foothold, uses that to get leverage for his hands, yanks himself higher.

Then Ana's hands are closing around his left wrist, Blaine's around his right, and they pull him all the way up to the top.

"Okay," Ana says, petting absently at Cooper's shoulders before she lets go of him and grabs Blaine instead. She pulls him to his feet, and Cooper scrambles up after them, grabs Blaine's other arm. "Okay, come on."

The monster roars beneath them. They start running again, this time into the jungle. 

"This way," Ana says, pulling them all through a sharp right turn. "This way, this way, come on." 

Cooper doesn't even know how she'd know where she's going, but obviously she does. Five more minutes of running, and this big tree mass thing rises up out of the ground in front of them. He doesn't know what it is, exactly, some kind of thing where a bunch of little trees come together to make one big one. And he has no idea how it's going to stop a giant smoke monster, but when Ana drags them to a gap in the branches (or trunks, or whatever) and starts pushing Blaine through, he follows suit.

"In here," Ana says. "In here, in here." 

Cooper follows Blaine, and Ana follows Cooper, the three of them huddling together in this weird, tree-cave whatever it is sort of thing as the monster roars outside.

Blaine starts to shake, his breath coming in short, sharp little pants.

"It's okay," Cooper says, pulling Blaine close and wrapping his arms around him. After a second, Ana comes in on Blaine's other side, sandwiching him between the two of them. "It's okay, it's okay, it's okay --"

"It really isn't," Blaine says, and starts to cry.

 

*

 

Ben's not sure how long they run, but it's a long time. Long enough for the rain to taper off, the noise of raindrops on leaves finally subsiding, leaving nothing to hear but their own rough breathing, their footsteps, a few jungle noises. There's nothing else to hear, no footsteps following theirs. 

Ben slows to a stop, dragging Blaine with him, their fingers still tightly laced. When Blaine opens his mouth to speak, Ben shushes him with a finger to his lips; he closes his eyes, listens. Silence. There's no one. There's nothing.

"I think we lost him," he says, opening his eyes to look at his son. It's dark, and without his glasses, Ben can barely see -- 

But Blaine is here, intact, and that's all that matters.

He smiles at his son, and Blaine smiles back at him. 

"I knew you'd find me," he says, quietly, and squeezes his father's hand. "Although I guess it would've been easier if they'd given you your glasses."

"I always did like a challenge," he says, and ruffles his son's drying curls, and smiles again. "Which is good, considering I have absolutely no idea where we are, or where we're going to go from here, so --"

Blaine takes a step forward, looking around. "I was awake when Jack brought me here," he says, looking around. "I think -- I think I know where we are. And the Barracks should be just about a mile --"

He takes another step, his hand slipping free from Ben's, and a knife comes whistling through the darkness.

Just like Ethan. Just like before, and all Ben can do is stand there, horrified, as his son slumps to his knees, then falls forward into the dirt, a knife buried to the hilt between his shoulderblades.

But this time, there's no footstep behind him. There's no blow to knock him out. He just stands there, time frozen around him, until finally his trembling legs give out and he falls, crawling over to his son, pulling him up onto his lap. Blaine is limp, lifeless.

Dead weight.

The handle of the knife quivers in Blaine's back as he's moved, as Ben feels for a pulse, checks for breath. 

"Blaine," he says, pulling his son closer. "Blaine, Blaine, no -- Please, Blaine, please -- no --"

Blaine's eyes are still open. His skin, damp from the rain, gritty with dirt, is already cold.

He's gone. 

" _Blaine_ ," he says again, and pulls his son close, and starts to sob.

 

*

 

The rain stops. 

The monster goes away.

In the silence that follows, Ana can hear Blaine talking, voice muffled in Cooper's shirt but still audible.

"Dad, no -- Dad, no, it's not real, that's not -- Dad, please. I'm here. I'm right here. Dad, please look at me, please -- "

She doesn't know what's happening anymore. She doesn't know what to do.

She holds Blaine tight and closes her eyes.

 

*

 

Darkness. Silence. 

Carefully, Sun opens the door of the intake station and peers out. 

The dock has been ripped up and destroyed. The boats are gone. If Cooper, Blaine, and Ana were still there when the monster came --

"Blaine?" she calls. "Blaine! Cooper! Ana! Can anybody hear me?" 

Silence.

“Jack?”

Nothing.

Ana was on the Island a long time, longer than Sun. Surely, she would have recognized the monster. Surely, she would have known to run. 

But where could they run to?

Sun looks back at the intake station. There's something there, something she hadn't noticed before. A tall pole, with something gray and blocky at the top of it.

The Barracks were constantly monitored when she lived there. Cameras in every house, every building. Cameras watching the sidewalks and gardens. 

Cameras at the docks. 

If they still work, Sun might be able to figure out where the others had gone to.

She ducks back inside the inculcation building, grabs her flashlight, and starts trudging up the path towards the Barracks.

She isn't giving up. Not yet.

 

*

 

They find him kneeling next to a stream, head in his hands. Even from a distance, Hurley can hear him crying. 

He doesn't know what's happening, but he's pretty sure that in about thirty seconds, Locke's really going to regret untying his hands and taking the gag out. 

He grabs Locke by the arm. "Dude," he hisses. "What did you do to him?"

"I didn't do anything, Hugo," Locke says, and peels Hurley away like he's nothing. "Now if you'll excuse me."

He steps forward, moving towards Ben, and Hurley follows. He doesn't care if Locke's got a gun. Hell, he doesn't care if Locke's got fifty guns. All he cares about is that Ben is crying, and that's not cool. 

"Ben?" Locke asks, moving in closer; Ben shudders, straightens up, takes his hands away from his face. "Ben, what happened? What did you see?"

Ben turns slowly, rising to his feet. His eyes are puffy, swollen from crying; he's covered with mud from head to toe; and the look on his face makes Hurley want to run for cover. "You killed my son," he says, very quietly.

"Wait," Hurley says. "What?"

That's when Ben lunges, knocking Locke down flat and just whaling on him, blow after blow and Hurley's not sure if he should help hold Locke down or maybe peel Ben off him or what. "You killed my son!" he screams, pinning Locke's shoulders down with his knees when he struggles and just hitting him and hitting him and hitting him and then there's blood -- Locke is like, actually bleeding, and Hurley had no idea a guy that small could be that strong. "You killed my son! You killed my --"

He stops hitting Locke for all of ten seconds, bends down and reaches back like he's going for Locke's knife, and Locke manages to roll them both over, pinning Ben to the ground. 

"Hey!" Hurley shouts, stepping forward. "Hey, get off him!"

"I didn't kill your son," Locke says, and Ben thrashes underneath him, trying to shake him off. "Ben! Listen to me. I didn't kill your son."

"Liar," Ben growls, and twists again, kicking out. "I saw your knife sticking out of his back. The same way you killed Ethan, with a knife in the back, from a distance, because you're too much of a coward --"

"Then where's the body, Ben?"

"What do you mean, where's the body? It's where you left it, by the creek --"

Hurley stops a step away from Locke and Ben, hands still reaching out to pull Locke back.

He turns and looks at the creek.

"Dude," he says, quietly. "There's no body."

"He was in my arms when you found me," Ben snarls; Hurley's not even sure if that's directed towards him or not, but he figures he'd better answer anyway because God knows Ben's not going to listen to Locke right now.

"You were kneeling by the creek," he says. "By yourself. There was never any body. Blaine's not here, Ben. He's not here."

"I didn't kill your son," Locke says, staring down at Ben. There's blood streaking down from a cut on his eyebrow, blood between his teeth. "Whatever you saw, Ben, it wasn't real. It felt real, but it wasn't."

"Liar." Ben's voice is ragged with anger and pain. "I felt the weight of him in my arms, his blood on my hands, and you're telling me --"

" _I'm_ telling you," Hurley says, and Ben turns his head to the side, actually looks at him. "Seriously, dude, I wouldn't lie to you, and especially not for him. I don't know what happened or what you saw, but Blaine's not here. You were by yourself when we found you; no body, nothing. I promise. He's not here."

And Ben finally stops fighting; he's still shaking, a little, but he's not trying to push Locke off anymore, he's just... shaking. And breathing.

"Listen to Hugo, Ben," Locke says, because he has no idea when to quit. "Even if you don't trust me --"

"Shut up," Ben says, and closes his eyes, and breathes a little longer.

Finally, he says, "Get him off me."

Locke's already moving by the time Hurley grabs him, but Hurley gives him a shove anyway, just on principal. Then he crouches down next to Ben, who's sitting up, staring at the creek, the bare ground where his son absolutely is not. Then he presses his fingertips to his forehead, feeling out the wound, like he's already figuring everything out. 

"He put some stuff on your head," Hurley says, just in case. Ben withdraws his fingertips, looks at them, sniffs at them. "He said it was so you didn't get an infection. When you came to, you looked like you were fine, and then you just... I don't know. It was like you heard something, but there was nothing to hear."

"I heard my son," Ben says, softly. He's still staring down at his hands. They're bloody; Hurley's not totally sure how much of that blood is Locke's and how much of it might be Ben's. "He was calling out for me. Calling out for help. And I found him; I saved him. We were so close and then..."

"And then you saw him die," Locke finishes, dabbing carefully at his split lip. He studies Ben for a moment (he's still standing way too close, considering Ben's already basically kicked his ass once), and then says, "How do you feel?"

"How do I feel?" Ben repeats. He smiles, but it's not, like, a nice smile. It's a creepy smile.

Hurley takes a step back and counts to three. 

This time, when Ben lunges, he stays low, low enough to grab Locke's knife even as he's taking him to the ground, and before Hurley can even get to his feet, Ben's got the knife to Locke's neck, already pressing into the skin. 

"You are going to tell me where my son is," Ben snarls, leaning in so close that he and Locke are practically nose-to-nose, "and you are going to tell me right now."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song lyrics in this chapter are from "No One Is Alone" and "Finale (Into the Woods)" from _Into the Woods_ by Stephen Sondheim.


	9. Fathers and Sons

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Right or wrong, win or lose, Roger Linus has promised his son to the Island, and he's not dumb enough to think he can renege on the deal. He has to hand Ben over to the Hostiles, on schedule, no matter who stands in his way.

"You are going to tell me where my son is," Ben snarls, leaning in so close that he and Locke are practically nose-to-nose, "and you are going to tell me right now." 

Locke's eyes widen, mouth slack. He wasn't expecting this, and Ben feels a certain savage sort of triumph even as the anger boils ever higher in him because Locke made him watch his son die, and how could he _not_ expect -- 

The knife edge just breaks the thin skin of Locke's neck, blood welling around the blade, and it takes everything Ben has not to push the rest of his weight down on the blade and finish the job. But not yet, not yet.

He's not done with John Locke just yet.

"I'm not bluffing, John," he says, voice cracking despite his best attempts to keep it level. "The only reason you're still alive is because I don't know where my son is, and you're my best hope of finding him. So you'd better start talking, and you'd better --"

"Jack," Locke croaks out, and Ben eases up a little bit on the knife. 

Not much, just a little.

"Did he just say Jack?" Hurley asks.

Ben ignores him; he and Hurley can hash this out later, once he's got what he needs. "Jack is a person, not a place," he points out. " _Where_ does Jack have my son?"

"I don't --" Locke wheezes out, and Ben sets his jaw, keeps the edge of the knife scraping at Locke's skin. "I don't know exactly, I just --"

"Dude," Hurley says, coming closer. "He's lying. Jack doesn't have your son; he can't --"

"I'm not lying," Locke says, sounding a little desperate now; Ben stays where he is, eyes fixed to Locke's. "Jack said he was going to take your son to Jacob. So he would be safe, while you and I... talked things over."

"Safe," Ben repeats, bitterly. But he eases the knife away from Locke's skin. The blood rises up quickly without the blade of the knife to hold it in place; he'll have an interesting mark there for some time to come. Assuming Ben doesn't change his mind about finishing the job. "And the reason you don't know _exactly_ where my son is is because --"

"Because I don't know where Jacob is," Locke says, breath coming easier now that Ben's pulled back a little further. Ben lets him relax. For the moment. "There's a cabin -- Ethan took me, once, but there was nothing there. But Richard knows, I'm sure, and he'd take you there. Me, he wouldn't, but you --"

There's an unexpected easing of the tightness in Ben's chest, a feeling of something like hope. "Richard's here?" he asks. He hadn't dared to even imagine it -- he knows that Jacob had sent Richard away before Ben was taken to Room 23, and he'd assumed -- "He's still on the Island."

"Where else would he be?" Locke asks; it's astonishing, how fast the smile returns to his face, how easily he goes back to believing that he can control the situation. "I know where the camp is. I'll take you there, right now. It's what I was going to do anyway. We'll go to Richard; I'm sure he'd be happy to --"

"Nuh-uh!" Hurley's a surprisingly intimidating presence when he wishes to be; Ben's a little beyond fear right now but Locke obviously isn't; he actually cringes back into the dirt as Hurley looms over them. "Nope. Nuh-uh. No way. No one's going anywhere with you until you explain to me just how in the _hell_ Jack's got Ben's son when I know for a fact that he's --"

The sound that interrupts Hurley almost sounds like a bird call. Ben supposes it would sound exactly like a bird call, to the uneducated ear. But Ben was a Hostile for eighteen years and there's some things a man doesn't forget. He climbs off Locke, hand still wrapped tightly around the knife. "Hugo," he says, quietly.

Hurley turns on him, and no, he's not angry. He's terrified. "You don't understand," he says. "Whoever's got your son? It's not Jack Shepherd. It can't be Jack Shepherd."

"Hugo," Locke says, pushing up to his feet. "I recognize that this must be very confusing for you; I didn't understand myself, at first. But you need to believe me; I wouldn't lie --"

The next thing Ben knows, Hurley's got two fistfuls of Locke's shirt and Locke's feet are a good four inches off the ground. "All you've ever done," Hurley says, voice cracking with fury, "all you ever _do_ is --"

But no amount of raised voices can stop Ben from hearing, in the distance, the sound of a rifle being cocked. He lays a hand on Hurley's arm. "Put him down, Hugo," he says, quietly.

"And why would I do that?" Hurley snaps, giving Locke a good shake.

"Because there are at least four of my people out in the jungle with their weapons trained on you," Ben says. "And I really don't feel like watching anyone else die today."

Hurley hesitates; the muscles of his arm tremble beneath Ben's hand. Locke's toes come an inch closer to the ground.

"You'll get your chance," Ben says. "But for right now, Hugo, please. Put him down."

Hurley closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. And then, very carefully, he puts Locke down.

Locke is already smiling by the time his feet touch the ground. "Don't you see, Ben?" he asks, even as his bodyguards start making their slow and careful way into the the clearing by the stream. It's interesting; he seemed so convinced that the Island could change Ben's mind and yet he still felt the need to make sure Ben couldn't kill him. Perhaps his faith isn't really as unshakeable as all that. And, perhaps, his motives aren't quite so pure. "This is why you're supposed to be the Leader. This is why the Island needs you."

"I didn't do that for the Island, John," Ben says, and takes a step back. He drops Locke's knife on the ground at his feet. "And sooner or later, you'll realize that no matter how much you care about It -- It doesn't care about you. And It will throw you away the moment you cease to be of use to It."

"Well," Locke says, still smiling cheerfully. "Guess it's a good thing I know how to make myself useful." Then he looks past Ben, at his cadre of guards. "Tie them up, please," he says. "Oh, and you should probably gag them. Just to be on the safe side."

Ben wonders, absently, if Locke was lying about Richard still being on the Island. Surely he must be, if he's honestly planning on bringing Ben bound and gagged back to their encampment. Unless he really is that overconfident. Which Ben supposes he can't rule out entirely

He opens his mouth for the gag. It'd be nice to see Richard again. Also, it'll make it considerably easier for Ben to get the revolution started if he has Richard there to assist, and time certainly is of the essence.

Locke has no idea how much he's going to regret this.

Ben doesn't plan on letting him know until it's too late.

"Time to go home, Ben," Locke says, and smiles. 

Ben smiles back as best he can with a gag in his mouth.

 

*

 

"Oh my God." The voice that greets Roger as he approaches the garage is high-pitched, shrill, and surprisingly not Shannon. "Have you even been near a Type Four engine? Give me that wrench before you rip the valves out entirely; honestly --"

Curious, Roger peers inside. They've got one of the vans up on the lifts; Steve's standing next to it with a wrench in his hands while some skinny kid with greaser hair and a snub nose glares at him, hands on hips. "But you've got to adjust the valve clearances, or --"

The kid snatches the wrench from Steve's hands and shakes it at him. " _No_ ," he says, a tone in his voice like he's scolding a bad dog. "That was the T2. The Type Four has hydraulic valve lifters. Trying to adjust the clearances is only going to imbalance the entire thing. Honestly, it's not like these are new; I don't understand why you don't already --"

"Well it's new to me," Steve protests, chasing the kid as he ducks underneath the van to get at the engine better. "We just got these two months ago; I haven't been trained --"

The kid sticks his head out from underneath the van. "Well, then, you're gonna be. Let me show you how to actually work on one of these."

"I can't believe we finally have someone here who knows what they're doing," Roger says, half to himself; it's a rude shock when someone next to him chuckles. Big guy, blue jumpsuit with the motor pool patch and a shining bald head. His eyes are red and puffy; allergies, maybe. Seems like half the DHARMA new recruits get 'em bad the first week they arrive. Roger sometimes wonders if it's not something in those shots they dole out. But then, he's not totally sure the guy's new, either. He seems strangely comfortable standing there, wiping the grease off his hands onto an old rag. 

"He better know what he's doing," the guy says, grinning as the kid continues to gesticulate with the wrench. "He grew up in one of these." The guy gestures at the garage with the rag in his hands; it doesn't have quite the same dramatic sweep as the kid's movements, but there's something familiar in it all the same. "Name's Burt Hummel," the guy continues. "That's my son, there. Kurt."

"Roger Linus." The two shake hands. Burt's got a strong grip, a little too strong -- Roger wonders if the guy notices how hard he's squeezing. It's a relief when he lets go. "So, you worked in a garage before you came here?"

The correction is quick, slightly offended. "I _owned_ a garage before I came here." Burt shakes his head, shrugs his shoulders, jams both hands in his pockets. He's gone back to watching his kid underneath the car, pointing out parts on the van's engine. "Then there was all that business in Iran, with the Ayatollah and everything, and gas prices shot back up. People can't afford to drive their cars in the first place, they're not gonna bother getting 'em fixed." He sighs. "I probably could've toughed it out on my own, but with two kids to raise -- And then Kurt started in talking about how he could just quit school, get a job, help pay for Britt to go to college, and I just..." Burt catches himself, shakes his head again, chuckling. "Sorry," he says. "Didn't mean to unload on you. Guess I just got used to having to explain myself. I come from a small town, you know?"

"It's fine," Roger says, because he knows about small towns. He's been part of the DHARMA Initiative for going on four years now; there's nothing smaller than this place. "I've got a son too, so I get it. Same reason I came. You want a better life, and these guys talk like they can give it to you."

Burt raises an eyebrow at that. "You say that like they're not so good with the follow-through," he says, sounding wary.

Roger's half-tempted to warn him, but he doubts it'd get through. Even if it did, what's the point in making the man miserable? He'll figure it out on his own anyway. "All I'm saying is, I didn't think being a janitor was in my grand plan," he says, which is the truth. "But you know, the pay is decent, and it's not like it costs us anything to live here, so I figure it's worth toughing it out." Which isn't exactly true, but close enough. "And my son's had some real good opportunities come up from being on this Island. Real good."

Which might be true, but might also be a flat lie. Roger's not exactly in a position to know, and some days he has his doubts.

And he's not real sure Burt buys it either, judging by the narrowing of his eyes and the thinning of his lips. But then the guy sighs again and shrugs again and says, "Well. I mean, that's the goal. Anyway, I'm sure you're not just here to talk about how hard it is to be a dad, so. What can I do for you?"

"Just need to pick up a van," Roger says, and follows Burt over to the rack of keys on the wall. "Supply run to the Swan today."

"Swan, huh?" Burt hesitates over the keys for a moment. "That's kinda far out there, isn't it?"

"Little bit," Roger says; something's eating at the guy, but he couldn't say for sure what. "Roads are kind of rough, so if you've got one with working shocks, that'd be a plus." 

Burt half-smiles, selects a key from the rack. "Only I was wondering," he says, turning to pass the key over to Roger. "You know, they do that orientation video, talk up the 'Indigenous Population' or whatever. You ever get worried, heading out there by yourself? Hell, you ever get worried here? Someone said it used to be a big problem, you know, them coming in through the fence and into the compound. You ever see anything like that?"

"Used to," Roger says, and works hard to suppress a smile. "Not so much anymore. Whoever's out there, they're keeping to themselves nowadays. I figure as long as we do the same, shouldn't be any fuss."

"Yeah, well. Sure hope you're right." Burt passes him the key. "That's for number 42. Best shocks out of all of 'em, not that that's saying much. Nice to meet you, Roger."

"Same to you, Burt." 

Burt nods once, then turns away, heads over to where his kid's still bitching at Steve. He bangs on the side of the van -- his son comes out from underneath looking irritated. Roger grins and makes his escape.

Truth is, he almost envies Burt his naivete, that sense that he's finally doing something right for his family. It's a hard lesson, realizing that this Island's just another stop along the way in a long hard life, that there's no grand purpose to being here.

Well, there's no purpose for the DHARMA Initiative, anyway. Doesn't mean there's no purpose at all. The things Roger's seen, the things this Island has shown him... There's something more out there. It's hard to see, and he doubts it sometimes, but in the end, he's got faith. That there is a better life out there, for himself and for Ben. It just needs a little sacrifice first.

He heads towards the vans, key clutched tight in his fist. 

 

*

 

Everything hurts.

It's been a long time since he's had a hangover -- God, not since he was an undergrad -- but not so long that he can't figure out that only half of this is from the beer. The feeling that his head has ballooned to ten times its usual size, yes. The churning acid in his stomach, absolutely. The cotton tongue, the foul taste at the back of his mouth, the way the room continues to spin around him -- of course. Of course. 

But the swollen, hot, aching eyes. The rasp in his throat. The persistent, nagging feeling that if only he could go back somehow -- if he could change it. If he could make it so he hadn't gone out to the Hydra, if he could talk himself into staying with Amy just one more day --

The hangover will fade. But that's the smallest part of his pain. The rest... The rest is big, so big he can't even fathom the size of it. And he doesn't know when it'll stop. If it'll stop.

 _I still see her sometimes_ , Roger told him last night, several beers in. _You know? Sometimes I look out into the jungle and just for a second... It's like she's still there, just out of reach._

Roger's wife died twelve years ago. 

How the hell is Horace supposed to make it twelve years when he's not sure how he'll make it through today?

But he doesn't get a choice. Like it or not, he's got to keep living. He has his work, the DHARMA Initiative. All those people, and every last one of them counting on him.

And now there's one more. His son.

He forces his eyes open.

The beer cans are gone; in their place is a glass of water on a coaster. He's ninety percent sure that's not Roger's handiwork. When he forces himself upright (ignoring the swimming in his head, the sudden choking sensation like he's about to vomit that second), he sees his head of security, Kate, watching him from Roger's armchair, her face serious. 

"Roger's not gonna be happy about you breaking in," Horace says, and reaches for the glass. It almost slips through his trembling fingers; it takes an effort of will and both his hands to pull it close enough to drink from. The water's cold, sweeps some of the sourness away; it's a reflection of just how bad things have gotten that this makes Horace feel worse, not better.

"He asked me to come check on you," Kate says; she looks tired. Something Roger said last night comes back -- that Ben was probably over at Kate's house. That sometimes he stayed the night there. It seems odd, for reasons Horace can't put his finger on. "He's worried about you, Horace. A lot of us are. Losing Amy like that..."

She was there. He remembers that, vaguely. His world crumbling around him and Miles saying that Kate had been there the entire time, right by Amy's side. Right where Horace should've been. He should thank her for that.

He drinks his water.

"I wanna see my son," he says, when half the glass is gone and he doesn't think he's going to throw it up. 

Kate purses her lips. "Drink your water," she says. "I'll make you something to eat. And we'll talk about it."

The thing is -- Kate's been a decent head of security these last three years. More than decent, honestly. A little overbearing sometimes, but hard-working, solid, reliable. Horace likes her. He really does. But sometimes, even he wonders if she's gotten too used to getting things her own way.

"Horace," Kate says, gentler now. She leans in a little bit. "I know you want to see Ethan. And I want you to. I just want to make sure you're on your feet before we start the walk over, okay?"

Or maybe he's hungover and grieving and not thinking clearly. He supposes he can't rule that one out just yet.

"Okay," he says, and drinks more water.

 

*

 

Dim light filters into the banyan tree. Early morning, probably. The rain's finally let up; she can still hear the patter of water falling from the leaves above to the jungle floor below, but it's irregular now -- the trees shaking off the last of the rain as they dry. Blaine's stopped crying; he's limp and heavy with sleep. Cooper too, judging by the faint snores. 

Ana should leave them to it, take a moment to step out of the tree and scope out the area. Figure out a way back to the Barracks. If the code for the Barracks fence is the same as it was before she left, they could get back inside. Find water, weapons maybe. Food if they're really lucky. Hell, maybe Sun's still alive. Maybe she's there, waiting for them. They could regroup, catch their breath, and then --

Then she doesn't know, not really. 

She has no idea what happened last night, what Blaine did. She knows he saw something. She knows it's bad. As for the rest of it... She is so far out of her depth right now that it isn't even funny, and the hell of it is that she is still the person in charge, because she has to be. Because Cooper is a civilian and Blaine is sixteen and that leaves her. 

So she pulls away from Blaine, patting his shoulder as she goes (he stirs a little, and Cooper's arms tighten around him, and he subsides and it hits her again, hard, that he's just a kid) and slides out between the twined roots of the banyan tree.

It isn't totally unfamiliar, this part of the jungle. Of course, it isn't totally familiar either, and she's never been great at telling trees apart. The canopy's dense here, hard to see the sky and get her bearings off the angle of the sun. But there aren't that many banyans here in the jungle, and she remembers their approach; it's enough to start sketching the outlines of her mental map. The cliff off to her right, sliding down to meet the ocean; that puts the Barracks somewhere back behind and to the left, roughly --

When she turns, there's someone standing there, barely a foot from her, and she stumbles back, heart picking up speed as she fumbles for her gun. And even when she recognizes the guy, she keeps her hand on the gun, pulse racing. 

"Jack?" 

"Ana." He takes a step forward, looking relieved, and Ana instinctively takes a step back. 

It's good timing, because a moment later Blaine bursts out of the banyan tree, crossing the clearing with surprising speed and knocking Jack flat on his back. One grubby hand grabs Jack by the shoulder and pushes him into the mass of decaying leaves that makes up the jungle floor; the other presses Cooper's knife to Jack's throat.

"Where's my dad?" he demands, his voice breaking high at the end of the last word. He's visibly shaking, scared and not even really trying to hide it. But he's not letting it hold him back, either. Ana can admire that.

She keeps her distance anyway; there's nothing like fear to make someone dangerous. "Blaine," she says, as calmly as possible; behind her, Cooper tumbles out of the Banyan tree, and she raises an arm to hold him back. She's not Jack's biggest fan, but she doesn't want Blaine to make the wrong movement at the wrong time and wind up a murderer. Not at his age. "What makes you think he knows?"

"He knows," Blaine says, steadier than before, but not by very much. Not nearly enough. "He knew Locke was going to take my dad; he knew Locke was going to drug him, going to make him see --" Another crack, and this time Blaine can't continue. 

"Locke did tell me that the Island needed to show your father something," Jack confesses-- words coming out fast and sharp, voice pitched high. But he doesn't seem scared, or at least, not as scared as he should be. "He didn't say what it was, just -- He needed to get your father alone, here, because the Island was going to show your father something. Make him understand things. He said that if he didn't, it wouldn't do any good to take your father to Jacob, because he wouldn't listen, but if he could just see -- 

"My father saw me _die_ ," Blaine snaps, and Ana stiffens; behind her, Cooper sucks in a deep breath. 

She knows what he's thinking of -- it's the same thing she is, Blaine sobbing in their arms last night, begging his dad _look at me please_. And Blaine saw that; he saw his own death, saw his father's reaction, and he --

"He's not going to listen to Jacob. If he thinks I'm dead, there's nothing... There's nothing Jacob could say, there's nothing Jacob could offer him --" 

And then Blaine falls silent; he takes the knife away from Jack's throat, although he doesn't get off him just yet.

"This Island can perform miracles, Blaine," Jack says, slowly. "You've seen it. Richard looks the same today as he did the first time your father met him, and that was decades ago. John Locke was in a wheelchair before he arrived. So was your father. It can heal the sick; it can grant eternal life. Why couldn't it bring someone back from the dead?"

Ana feels suddenly, abruptly sick. "Is that why you're here?" she asks, finally closing the distance. "You weren't trying to help at all, you didn't -- You just needed to stick with Blaine. To bring him to this Jacob guy, so when Locke brings Ben there, he'll see his son, and he'll think --"

Blaine climbs off Jack, even holds a hand out to help him up. "So let's go," he says.

"What?" Cooper asks.

Ana says, "Blaine, I'm not sure --"

"Well, I am." He stands steady, hand out to Jack, waiting. "If that's where my dad's going to be, then I'm going to be there, too."

He's cooking up some kind of plan, that much is obvious. Ana's just not sure whatever he's got going on in his head is going to be enough to stop things from going badly, but she's also not really sure she can stop him. "You sure about this?" she asks. "You're taking a hell of a chance, Blaine."

He glances back over his shoulder at her -- all tangled curls, eyes swollen and red behind his thick, black-framed glasses. When he smiles, he looks oddly like his father. "I've been a hostage before," he says. "Trust me, I'm -- good at this."

He turns back to Jack, hand still outstretched. Finally, Jack reaches back, lets Blaine help him up. "You're a sixteen year-old boy," Jack says. "Jacob's been ruling this Island for centuries. Do you really think you can outsmart him?"

Blaine just shakes his head. "It doesn't matter," he says. "I have to try."

And with that, he turns and heads into the undergrowth without a backwards glance.

"How does he even know where he's going?" Cooper asks, softly. 

"Because he's Special," Jack says, with a little half-smile that Ana doesn't like at all. 

She's already starting to wonder if Blaine's wrong. If his dad is the hostage, and Blaine's the target.

But she can't tell him from here, so she hurries after him, Cooper and Jack falling in line behind her.

 

*

 

Radzinsky's in a hell of a mood when Roger pulls up to the Swan.

Of course, Radzinsky's always in a hell of a mood, so it's not like that's anything new.

"There you are," he says, as Roger climbs out, slamming the door shut behind him. "What took you so long? I've been waiting all day."

Roger shakes his head. "It's eleven a.m.," he points out, heading around to the back to swing the double doors of the van open. 

"Yeah, well." Radzinsky doesn't bother reaching out to grab anything from the van; he never does. Can't risk his precious scientific fingers. "Days kind of lose meaning when you spend ninety percent of your time down here pushing goddamn buttons."

Which Radzinsky has only himself to blame for, not that Roger's going to point that out. Not after what happened last time. He contents himself with giving Radzinsky an even, level stare for a solid three seconds before turning to grab the first flat of canned goods.

"And now Ann Arbor's sending that idiot Faraday to check up on me," Radzinsky says, bitching his way along as Horace heads for the doors to the station. God, he hates it here. It's creepy, all concrete and metal and that weird humming sound he can never quite manage to block out. He'd probably think this place had driven Radzinsky nuts if he hadn't met the man before this. "Can you believe that? One little spike -- I mean, barely a blip, honestly --"

Roger stops short in the middle of the hallway. "You had a surge? Again?"

Radzinsky's offended-cat glare is one for the ages -- it'd be funny, if Roger weren't seriously wondering if the building wasn't about to blow up around him. He was called in for the post-Incident cleanup; he remembers the damage this place can do. "Look, I don't know if you realize this, but working with the kind of electromagnetic energy that this place puts out isn't exactly as easy as pushing a broom," he snaps. 

Roger can feel his arms itching to lift the canned goods a little higher, dump the whole flat of them over Radzinsky's damn head. Or just drop them -- slam Radzinsky back into the wall so hard his teeth rattle, break his glasses.

He starts walking, trying to ignore the clench of his jaw and the grinding of his teeth.

"Anyway, it was a small spike. And it damn sure wasn't enough to pull someone out of an airplane and land them on the Island -- I don't care what Austen says. That buddy of hers, wherever he came from... For all we know, he's a Hostile. Hell, for all we know, _she's_ a Hostile."

It's too close for comfort. Time to ease Radzinsky back from the brink a little bit. "No way Faraday's a Hostile," he says, shaking his head. They pass into the living room -- Danny's nowhere in sight, of course. Probably getting some breathing room. Honestly, it's a miracle anyone lasts a day, stuck down here with this lunatic. "Just because you don't like him, it doesn't mean --"

"Not Faraday, you halfwit." 

Roger drops the cans on the counter with a clatter, works to keep his hands from clenching into fists.

Radzinsky presses on, heedless. Guy never did know when to shut up. "I mean the other guy. The one Phil saw yesterday, out by the Flame. Said he was on an airplane when suddenly there was this bright light. Next thing he knew, he was in the jungle."

Roger has no idea who Radzinsky's talking about. But for the first time in a very long time, he is actually really interested in hearing more.

"I mean, come on. Obviously, he's a Hostile. He saw the light from the... from the _Incident_ , used that as his alibi... I mean, hell, it worked for Austen and her cronies, why wouldn't it --"

"So this guy Phil saw out by the Flame," Roger says, laying the disbelief on thick; he learned a long time ago that the best way to keep Radzinsky talking is to try to shut him down, "he's here to... what, help Charlie teach the nine year-olds? Maybe work on some cars with Shannon? I'm just saying, if these guys were Hostiles, you'd think they'd --"

" _You_ might think that," Radzinsky says, and when Roger turns to head back up to the surface, Radzinsky is less than a second behind him. "Because you have no idea what these people are like, what they're capable of. But I'm telling you, Austen's up to something. And this friend of hers, the one that's sitting comfortably at the Barracks, right now? That guy's gonna be a problem. Bet on it."

And the thing is, Radzinsky might even be right about that. In more ways than just the one.

If Kate really does have someone at the Barracks, someone who's not supposed to be there -- if Horace comes out of his stupor and sees this guy?

That's a big problem. One Roger's got no time to solve.

Hell, like this week couldn't get any worse.

 

*

 

It's easy to forget just who she's holding, who she's feeding, whose diapers she's changing. Whoever he might become, he's not Ethan yet; he's just a baby, small and red-faced and in desperate need of someone to care for him. Juliet's always been good at caring for people, when she lets herself. And she knows enough about what Ethan's childhood is going to look like to let herself. Someone should, after all. It might as well be her.

Besides, it keeps her safely tucked away in the infirmary and away from prying eyes and nosy questions. Her cover's flimsy at best, and although she managed to do a lot with a weak cover after the crash of Oceanic 815... well, it's not like there was any paperwork to give her away (at least, not after she tossed the flight manifest into Sayid's signal fire). The DHARMA Initiative is different. Every member came carefully vetted, with files of background information, academic records, medical records, psychological profiles, competency examinations, and transcripts of a dozen different interviews. All it takes is one person with the motivation and access to do the research, and she's done for.

And if she goes down, she'll take everyone else with her. Kate, Charlie, Shannon, Burt and the kids... And for the first time in a long time, she genuinely doesn't want to do that. She actually wants to help the people she's working with. She doesn't want to hurt them.

So she stays in the infirmary, stays with Ethan, stays out of sight.

Of course, that only works as long as no one decides to visit baby Ethan -- well, no one over the age of twelve, anyway -- and Juliet's never had the best luck. So it's not entirely surprising when Kate comes in to Ethan's makeshift nursery with a strained expression and Horace Goodspeed on her heels. 

Even at a distance, Juliet can smell Horace sweating out last night's bender. 

Ethan shifts in her arms, pressing his face into the blankets and letting out a weak cry.

Juliet forces a smile. "You must be Ethan's father," she says, as pleasantly as she can. She was always good at that, at that particular disarming sweetness. Ethan himself used to compliment her on it all the time. "My name is Juliet. It's nice to finally meet you."

Horace eyeballs her suspiciously for a moment, then takes a deep breath, seeming to steady himself. "Likewise," he says, taking two steps forward. He's mostly steady on his feet, at least. Of course, Kate probably took pains to sober him up before bringing him here. "How's he doing today? Everything looking all right?"

"So far, so good." She watches Horace approach, two steps at a time. "He's a little premature, so I'd like to monitor him for another twenty-four hours or so, just to make sure everything checks out. But I think he'll probably turn out just fine."

"Hm." Another two steps puts him less than a foot from her; he stops there, not pushing in or reaching out. He has yet to hold his son; Juliet wonders if she should offer. She can't say she's particularly inclined to do so. "And you're going to be the one monitoring him? Not Dr. Shelton?"

Another smile; this one comes easier. She's always thought she does her best under pressure. "Dr. Shelton's down at the Looking Glass," she explains, bouncing Ethan when he fusses. "I have some relevant experience, so I volunteered to take over. Although certainly, if you'd like, I'd be happy to trade places with one of the others from the Staff; I think Rosie worked NICU for a while, or --"

"No, no, that's fine," Horace says, and stuffs his hands into the pockets of his coveralls. "I'm sure you're doing a fine job. I just wanted to know who I should go to, if I have questions, or concerns, or..."

"Of course." Juliet takes a deep breath, weighs her options, and then asks, as gently as she can, "Would you like to hold him?"

"I --" Horace glances up; his eyes meet Juliet's -- red-rimmed and puffy, and of course, he _just_ lost his wife -- and for a moment, she manages to feel for him. Even knowing how this ends.

She holds Ethan out, ignoring his quiet cry, and after a moment, Horace pulls his hands out of his pocket and takes his son. 

He's really remarkably gentle, all things being considered. And the look on his face when he really sees his son for the first time is so much more tender than Juliet would've expected.

If only she didn't know how this was going to end.

"He looks like me," Horace says, after a moment. He smiles. "Wish I could say that was a compliment."

Kate's eyes meet Juliet's over Horace's shoulder; Juliet smiles, but Kate doesn't.

"Twenty-four hours," Horace continues, quietly. He glances at Juliet. "And then I'll be able to take him home?"

Juliet's smile doesn't falter; she doesn't let it. "Of course," she says. "Then you'll take him home."

Horace passes Ethan back to her. "Very good," he says. "Thank you, Juliet."

Then he stuffs his hands back into his pockets, turns, and leaves. 

After one more lingering look at Juliet and Ethan, Kate follows him out.

 

*

 

It's mid-morning when they bring him in. Everyone's sitting around campfires, drinking coffee (funny how strongly Locke objected to them returning to the DHARMA Barracks, but the man didn't make a peep about them bringing as much coffee and canned goods as they could carry), and Locke comes striding in like the great White hunter, returning home with his prey. 

Except in this case, the prey is Hurley -- hands tied behind his back, gag in his mouth -- and a shorter man who pretty much has to be Benjamin Linus, judging by the way Richard tries to climb to his feet the moment he sees him. 

Sawyer holds him back. He's not totally sure how this revolution is going to work, but he's pretty sure that if Richard charges Locke right now, while he's with his prisoners (and his armed guards, and Sawyer can't help but feel at least a little amused that Hugo Reyes and his bug-eyed pal required five armed men to bring them in), then it's going to be over about as soon as it starts.

Linus turns his head in their direction, squints at them for a moment. Then his face relaxes; he raises his eyebrows at them, then glances back over his shoulder at Hurley. 

Well. It's good to know _somebody's_ got a plan, anyway.

Locke delivers a few murmured instructions -- someone did a number on his face, probably Linus judging by the scraped knuckles, and Sawyer's impressed despite himself -- and two of the guards grab Hurley by the elbows and haul him along to one of the tents at the far side of the camp. Sawyer watches them, marking just where they're going. 

He's not worried about where Ben's gonna end up. Locke'll be with him, not to mention his private security detail, so he'll be easy enough to find. Anyway, he's sure Richard's watching; he all but claimed Ben as his son the other day. He's not gonna see anything or anyone else as long as Ben's there. 

But Ben wanted Sawyer to stick with Hugo, and that's what Sawyer's gonna do.

Hugo first. Then they spring Ben.

After that? Well, Sawyer's sure his Leader'll tell him when the time comes. 

 

*

 

The van stops less than thirty feet from where Desmond's hiding. Of course, he knew just where to stand, because he's been here before. 

He's been a lot of places, since the white flash. He's seen a lot of things. 

Which is how he knows that the man climbing out of the DHARMA van is named Roger Linus. And that, a little over twenty-four hours from now, he's going to give his son to another man, a man named Richard Alpert.

A man who is about to emerge from the jungle in three... two --

"You're late," Richard says, stepping onto the road. 

Roger flinches, tries to cover it, fails. Of course, he should be frightened. He might not know it yet, but eighteen years from now, he'll be dead. His own son -- the boy he's twenty-four hours from giving up -- will shoot him in the face, then step over his dead body and keep moving.

And the truth is, if it ended there, if Roger Linus was the only person to die from this, Desmond might be inclined to let it happen. 

But he won't be.

Desmond's not sure he can change things, but he knows he has to try.

"I have a cover to maintain --" Roger says, blustering, and Desmond retreats a little further into the underbrush, but not so far that he can't hear their plans.

It's a little over twenty-four hours until Roger Linus gives his son away. 

Unless, of course, Desmond manages to stop him.


	10. Catch-22

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For years now, Desmond Hume has been trapped on the Island, doing everything in his power to stop the end of the world. This may well be his last chance.

The first time he sees it, he's pretty sure he's in Hell.

It's red, that's what he notices. Red light, and shaking -- he was in an earthquake once, back in LA, and this feels like that, only much much worse. Shaking, and red light, and someone gasping softly in pain, and then he hears a voice call out, "Dad?"

And Desmond is just turning his head to look when everything goes dark.

(He wakes up naked in the jungle, with an angry dark-haired woman pointing a gun at him and Hurley behind her, going "No no no, it's cool, he's not one of them," and in everything that happens afterward, he almost forgets about it.)

 

*

 

He wakes up. His head hurts. He doesn't know where he is. 

There's a strange sort of heavy humming in the air, impossible to block out, and a dim light that he can see through his closed eyelids. Someone's with him; he can hear footsteps, clinking noises, an occasional murmur. One voice only, never two, and unless he's very much mistaken, only one person's footsteps on the floor. Whoever's got him -- captured him? Rescued him, perhaps -- it seems they're in the habit of talking to themselves. 

What's interesting, though, is what's missing. No smell of salt. No sound of waves slapping the hull of his boat. No rustling of the sails. Just the hum, the footsteps, the light.

He remembers the storm -- the waves and the wind, the rain and the lightning and the terrible pit-of-his-stomach fear that he might not come out the other side of it, that Charles Widmore might've actually got rid of him for good. And then a blow, something he heard more than felt, and sudden darkness.

Is it possible that another, larger ship came along and rescued him? But no, he'd feel the rocking yet, and wherever he is now, it's perfectly still. Jarringly so, in fact. He'd have sworn he wasn't anywhere near land before the storm hit, though, so how could he possibly --

"I don't want to bother you if you're still freaking out," someone says, calmly, "but when you get done with that, there's juice and toast. I'd start with the juice if I were you -- you were out on the beach a while before I found you. Probably pretty dehydrated."

An American, male. Sounds pleasant enough. Desmond chances opening his eyes, sees that he's laying in a bunk bed. White sheets, red blanket. There's a window next to him with its blinds open, but it's pitch black out. It was night when the storm hit him; it's possible the sun hasn't risen yet. 

Then again, it's possible it's already risen and set again without him being aware of it. As it stands, he's not really ready to rule anything out.

He sits up as best he can, careful to duck his head low and avoid the upper bunk, turns and puts his feet on the floor. There's a man standing in front of him in a tan jumpsuit, light brown hair buzzed into a crewcut. True to his word, he's got a glass of orange juice in his right hand and a plate of toast in his left. He holds the glass out first.

Desmond reaches out carefully, mindful of his shaking hands. "You military, then?" he asks, fingers closing around the glass. The uniform isn't familiar to him, really, but the hair certainly is, and it's a decent enough explanation for how the man got here. There's still a few outposts here in the Pacific, Americans. He hadn't thought he was so close to Guam, but it isn't impossible.

The man just shakes his head, grinning. "Not for a long time," he says. "You?"

"Not for a long time," Desmond says, and takes a careful sip of the juice. It doesn't taste like it's been doctored with anything, and it doesn't make him feel like he's about to throw up immediately, so he chances a bit more. 

"Royal Scots?" the American asks, and grins wider when Desmond stares at him. "I ran into a couple of you fellas over in Iraq during the war. Good men."

"If you say so." Desmond's memories of the military aren't particularly good ones. Then again, few of his memories are. He supposes that says something about the way he's been living. 

"Well, that sounds like a story," the American says. He turns away, taking the toast with him, but he doesn't go far. Grabs a nearby chair, pulls it over, comes back and sits down across from Desmond. "Not that I'm necessarily gonna ask for it. Least not 'til you're on your feet again."

He holds out the toast; Desmond considers it for a moment, then shakes his head. "I'll stick with this, thanks."

"Suit yourself." The American crosses his legs, rests the plate on his lap, and helps himself to a slice of toast. 

Desmond watches him eat it, sipping his juice. "So if you're not military," he says, trying to put the pieces together, "what's with the uniform?"

The American shrugs, brushes crumbs off his lap. "DHARMA Initiative," he says, cheerfully, and takes another bite of his toast.

It's nothing Desmond's ever heard of before, so he asks the obvious question. "And what's that, then?"

"You're looking at it." The American grins at Desmond, taps the patch on his jumpsuit. Some sort of weird octagonal thing with a swan on it, and underneath it a name. _Christopher_. "Chris Hudson. Last living member of the DHARMA Initiative."

A soft, high beeping starts from somewhere nearby, and Chris chuckles, sets the plate down on the floor by his feet. 

"Gimme a second," he says. "Gotta save the world."

And just like that, he turns and walks into the next room.

Desmond takes the moment to look around, try to figure out what sort of a place he's in. The walls look to be poured concrete, thick and rough; they curve up to the ceiling like the walls of a fishbowl. Peering down the hallway, he can see what might be a kitchen counter, with a blender on it. The hallway stretches on past that room, leads somewhere else; that must be where the beeping's coming from. Desmond's half made up his mind to investigate further when the beeping stops; there's a quick, rattling noise and then silence. 

Then Chris starts walking back towards him, booted feet on the concrete floors. He stops at the kitchen area, grins at Desmond, and then turns away. After a second or two, Desmond hears the sound of running water.

Desmond eases himself up off the bed and, with unsteady steps, makes his way out of the sleeping quarters and into the kitchen to where Chris is waiting, leaning against the counter with a glass of water in his hands. There's something unnerving about the fact that he's still smiling, that he hasn't stopped smiling the entire time. Or maybe it's just the humming sound coming from the walls, or maybe it's from Desmond hitting his head; maybe he's still washed up on a beach somewhere and none of this is real and that's why it all seems so quietly nightmarish. He's not really ready to rule anything out just yet.

"Out of curiosity," Chris says, and takes a sip of his water. "Do you know what one snowman said to the other snowman?"

The idea that none of this is real, that it's all just some strange dream, is beginning to sound more and more appealing. On the off-chance that it's not, though, Desmond shrugs his shoulders and says, "Can't say that I do."

"Ah, well." Chris finishes his water, sets the glass down by the sink. "Important thing is that you're here now, right? Anyway, I'll give you the grand tour if you're up for it -- brief you on the station duties; they're not really complicated, just --"

"I hate to tell you this, brother," Desmond says, cutting him off, "but I'm not staying. Soon as my boat's fixed, I'm off."

Chris just looks at him for a long moment, his smile slowly slipping away. Finally he sighs, scrubs a hand over his face, and says, "There is no boat. I mean, I figure there _was_ one; you had to get here somehow, but... I didn't see so much of a plank of it. Just you on the beach, that book in your hands."

He gestures to the end of the counter, by the blender -- Desmond carefully makes his way over and sees _Our Mutual Friend_ , still in the plastic bag he'd wrapped it with to protect it from the elements. 

"So how do I get home?" Desmond asks, staring down at the book, suddenly too afraid to touch it. As long as he doesn't, he can lie to himself; he can pretend that this isn't happening. The moment he feels that plastic under his hand, though --

"I'm so sorry," Chris says, and Desmond takes a deep breath, feels it shudder in his lungs. "I'm afraid you don't."

 

*

 

After that first incident with the Hostiles, he stays as far from people as he can for a long time. 

It's not easy; he never knows when another flash is going to come or where he's going to be when it does. One moment, he'll be standing by an old well, and then the next there's a DHARMA station being built around him and a man with a mustache yelling him to put on a damn helmet. And then another flash, and the station's overgrown with flowers, fallen into disrepair, and John Locke is blinking at him, bemused.

And then another flash.

And then another flash.

There's places in the jungle, deep ones, where even the Hostiles rarely show their faces. He could go there, stay put, wait the situation out. Once or twice, he even tries. The problem is, though, Desmond was never much good at being alone. The hatch taught him that. The more time he spends in the jungle, the less point he sees in anything at all. After several flashes' worth of solitude, the sound of voices in the distance is like water in the desert. He can't keep away; he needs to know, just for a moment, that he's not back in his fishbowl, alone in the universe. 

" -- unless you'd rather take part in the main action, of course --"

"No thank you." The response is quick and a bit dry, but the effect is a undercut by a soft plaintive cry, promptly shushed. "I'm just surprised Charles is trusting me to be the one leading the others to the Temple, after --"

Another cry; Desmond risks moving forward, close enough to see. There are two men in the clearing; one of whom he already knows -- Richard Alpert, the one constant thing on this Island, ageless and unchanging. The other man, though, the light-haired one with the band of fabric draped oddly across his chest...

Desmond doesn't know him.

He doesn't think he knows him.

Does he know him?

Another cry, and the strange man actually smiles, looks down, and Desmond realizes that he has a baby in a sling, held tight to his body. "I know, I know," he murmurs. "Just a little longer, I promise."

"Sounds like it's about dinner time," Richard says. He smiles at the light-haired man the way that the light-haired man smiles at his baby -- does Richard have a son? Desmond never really knew him well enough to ask. 

"It's always dinner time." The light-haired man rests one hand on his sling, either to reassure himself or his child; it's hard to say which. "That or nap time, or bath time, or... Anyway, I'm more than happy to lead a group to the Temple. It certainly beats carrying an infant into combat with me, which I imagine is why you nominated me for the position in the first place."

"You know, this actually wasn't my idea," Richard says. "Although I certainly agreed, and for exactly the same reason. But it wasn't my decision, any more than it was Charles'. Jacob was the one who made the call."

"Jacob chose me?" He sounds surprised, a little; almost pleased in a strange way. "Well. That's flattering, if a little disconcerting. I wonder what I've done lately to make him take such an interest in me."

Richard lifts his eyebrows. "Lately?" he asks. "If I'm remembering correctly, Benjamin, he took an interest in you when you were twelve. Which is why you're here now."

"Hm." Benjamin seems to consider that for a moment; his eyes drop back down to the infant wrapped securely against his chest. "What would have happened to him, Richard?" he asks, softly. "If I wasn't here."

Richard doesn't answer; he reaches out instead, rests a hand on Benjamin's shoulder. "I think the important thing is that you are," he says, very quietly.

Benjamin looks up at Richard, smiles.

The world starts to go white around the edges; Desmond covers his ears and cowers in the underbrush, bracing for the pain, bracing for the flash.

 

*

 

The ground around him shaking. A pulsing red light, and rocks falling down around him, and a heavy hum like the sound of the Swan, the buzz of that lethal energy. Nearby, someone is gasping with pain; a familiar voice.

Locke, perhaps. 

He left Locke behind, didn't he? When he went to turn the failsafe, he sent Kate and the others to the surface, and he told Locke, he told him --

"Dad?" a boy asks. He sounds frightened. "Dad, can you hear me?"

Desmond lets his head turn to the side, opens his eyes.

(The dark-haired woman is named Ana Lucia. She doesn't seem to care one way or another that Desmond's naked, but helps him bully Hurley into giving him his shirt anyway. Which is kind of her.)

 

*

 

"I'm not running from anything, brother," Desmond says, and Chris just laughs louder, shaking his head. "It's what I'm running _to_ that matters. I'm getting my honor back."

"'Course you are," Chris says, and leans back in his chair. In the quiet, Desmond can hear the numbers flip on the timer. Another minute closer to the end of the world. "Man, you think that's not what I told myself? After everything I'd done, everything I'd put my family through, put my wife through -- It was the only way I could ever make up for it. Saving the world, every 108 minutes, and maybe once I'd done it a couple thousand times, I'd have served my sentence. Atoned. And I could go back home with my honor intact."

This time, when Chris laughs, it has an edge to it.

"It's all bullshit," he says, waving his hand dismissively. "If I wanted to work things out with my wife, I would've stayed home and worked it out. Rehab, getting a job again, learning to be a dad -- But that would've been hard. It was easier to run. So that's what I did."

"Then that's you," Desmond says, firmly. "But it's different for me. You came here knowing you'd be here for years. I was never supposed to be gone this long. I always knew I was going to come home."

Chris sighs, slumps further into his chair. "Of course you did. A completely inexperienced sailor in an around-the-world race, through rough waters and brutal storms and God knows what else. I mean, what could possibly go wrong with that brilliant plan? Must've been a shock for you, winding up stuck here. No way anyone would've seen that coming."

"Are you saying I meant to come here?" Desmond demands, leaning in. "I didn't even know this place existed five months ago; I never could've -- "

"I'm saying you must've really fucked up," Chris says, and closes his eyes. "Otherwise sailing around the world wouldn't have seemed like the easy way out."

There ought to be some kind of a comeback to that, but Desmond can't think of anything.

It's almost a relief when the alarm starts back up again and he can excuse himself to go enter the code into the computer.

 

*

 

Once, he comes too close.

Something goes wrong when the boy is somewhere about five or six; Desmond's never really able to put a finger on what exactly it is. The best he can figure is that Benjamin leaves for a while -- where he goes and why he goes there remains an unsolvable mystery -- and when he returns, he's badly damaged. Gaunt, remote, mostly silent. And Blaine, still barely old enough to tie his own shoes, becomes his father's caretaker. He helps his father dress, feeds him the meals that adults bring, reads him books and plays piano with him and slowly, gently nurses him back to health.

It's touching, really.

It's also more than a little awful, and that's why when Desmond sees the two of them on a beach not far from the Barracks, the boy splashing in the water, his father standing at the shore with his pants rolled up to his ankles, letting the water lap gently at his toes, he finds himself pulled in too far. Because he's been here before; he's seen this particular year in Ben and Blaine's life more often than he cares to remember, and it's the first time he's heard the boy laugh in all those iterations. And it draws him in, closer, closer. 

And then Benjamin looks up and sees him.

He smiles.

"Hello there," he says, cheerfully. "Awfully nice day."

Desmond hesitates, but it's too late to for him to turn around and walk away. "Aye," he says, and takes another step closer. "Aye, I suppose it is."

Benjamin beams at him a little longer, then turns his attention back out to the water, to where Blaine is chasing after receding waves, laughing as they return to swamp him. "I can't remember the last time I took him out to go swimming," he says, soft and thoughtful. "Then again, I don't remember a lot of things these days." He glances back at Desmond, his smile smaller, almost sheepish. "Although I suppose you're probably already aware of that. Most everyone is."

"I wouldn't worry about it," Desmond says, and smiles back at him. He wonders just how much of his memory Benjamin has lost. Enough that it doesn't seem to bother him to see a stranger approaching on the beach. Perhaps everyone's a stranger to him, these days. "Some things are best left forgotten."

"Hm." Ben's lips finally lose their smile, his gaze goes abstract. "Some things, yes, I suppose. But not everything. Some things... Some things one hates very much to lose."

"So I suppose the question is," Desmond finishes, "which is worse? To keep your memories, even the ones you'd rather lose? Or lose it all, no matter how precious."

Ben nods slowly, jams his hands into his pocket, rocks back and forth on his heels. "But," he says, relaxing slightly, "I suppose I'll have the answer soon enough. My memory's been improving quite rapidly these last few weeks. The next time I see you, I might even remember your name."

And Desmond knows he shouldn't do it, but he can't help it. He's been watching Ben a long time -- how long is impossible to say, given his current state -- but long enough to like him. In many ways, he's the only friend Desmond has. "Desmond," he says, with a grin. "My name's Desmond."

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Desmond," Ben says, and reaches out to shake hands. "Again."

It's harder for Desmond to let go of Ben's hand than he thought it might be; how long has it been since he's had any sort of human contact apart from voyeurism? A long time now. But the world is growing white around the edges, and he can hear the gathering hum that signals another flash, and he'd prefer not to disappear in front of Ben and his son. It might lead to problems later, if he ever stays in one point in time long enough for his actions to finally come back and haunt him. "Nice to meet you again too," he says. "And good luck with your memory."

"Thank you," Ben says, and raises a hand in farewell as Desmond turns to walk away. 

He just manages to make it out of sight before the white light and the shrill, high-pitched noise are too much to bear.

He wonders if Ben will remember their meeting. 

He rather hopes not.

 

*

 

Another hard rumble, the ground shaking, and he hears the smashing of rocks against the ground, falling down from the lip of the cave to the now-empty well below.

It's a long way to fall. Such a long way to fall.

The shaking dies down, and Desmond opens his eyes to a pulsing red light and a heavy hum like the sound of the Swan, the buzz of that lethal energy. Electromagnetism. The Heart of the Island, he thinks. The bright white light at the Heart of the Island.

It's dark now, pulsing red and still fading rapidly; soon it'll be dark. The light will be gone.

But it's not the light that concerns him so much right now. It's the sounds, the human sounds. Locke gasping in pain -- 

(He sent Locke away, didn't he? When he went to turn the failsafe, he told him to leave, to get out of there before it was too late, before --)

"Dad?" Blaine asks. Desperate, so desperate, and Desmond lets out a long breath. It's over. He's failed. "Dad, can you hear me?"

Desmond lets his head turn to the side, opens his eyes, and sees Blaine crouching over his father. Ben is limp on the ground, spine twisted at an unnatural angle, and Desmond doubts very much that he can hear anything anymore.

It's over.

He's failed.

("I haven't seen Locke," Ana says, one hand creeping towards her gun. "And if he's lucky, it'll stay that way."

(Desmond half expects Hurley to protest, but he doesn't say a word.)

 

*

 

"I don't understand," Desmond says, crouched awkwardly in the cavern beneath the Swan, the humming all around him like a physical force, making all the hair on his body stand on end. "If you can just end this whole thing, the button and all the rest of it, then why don't you? Turn the key, and make it stop, and you can go home. You could be with Carole again. You could see your son."

Chris shakes with laughter; the bottle in his hand stays perversely steady. "You really think I'd see anything after I turned this key?" he asks, still laughing. "Can't you feel it? All that energy, all around you, and this is just the smallest... The smallest whisper. If I turned this key, right now -- Man, I'm not sure if the Island would still be here. You and me? We'd be gone." He slumps down to the concrete floor again, the laughter slowly working its way out of his system. "There's only one way out," he says, softer now. "Radzinsky taught me that. I'm just trying to decide which is more cowardly, staying or going."

"Well," Desmond says, and starts to crawl closer. The insistent hum is making his skin itch, and he can't stay here a moment longer or he'll blow the whole thing up himself. "Maybe you'd better wait until you're sober to decide."

Chris doesn't fight him, lets himself be led back up into the false daylight of the hatch. It's not a decision; Desmond knows that better than anyone. But at least Chris is putting it on hold for now.

It's the best Desmond can hope for, under the circumstances.

 

*

 

He's seen Kate a few times since the flashes began. Not often; she doesn't seem to move the same way he does, skipping through time like a needle skipping on a record. She's static, sometime in the late 1970s or early 1980s, wearing her DHARMA jumpsuit, driving around the Island in a Jeep like she has somewhere to be. Like she has a real life, a home to go back to, people that she knows.

He's glad for her, in his way. Jealous too, of course; it's hard not to be. But he's glad, too. Someone deserves a bit of happiness in this life. It may as well be her.

But this isn't the DHARMA Initiative; this is another time entirely, much later. Not that he could tell by looking at her; Kate looks just as she did in the DHARMA days. But even in the flickering firelight, Benjamin is older than Desmond has ever seen him; his light brown hair receding, his eyes hidden behind small, round glasses. There's a certain softening of the jawline, a hint of a paunch underneath his untucked shirt suggesting early middle age. And the boy curled up at his side, head resting on his father's lap, is hardly a boy anymore. The riot of dark curls remains, but otherwise, everything is different. 

Desmond's never seen them this way before, this far along in their lives.

Has he?

(pulsing red light)

(Dad? Dad, can you hear me?)

"He's a great kid," Kate says, softly; Desmond itches to move closer but knows that he can't; there's too many people around. Most of them are sleeping now, but Shannon's awake and watchful, just a few meters away from him with her arms wrapped around her knees and her gun at her side. She'd catch him in a moment if he so much as twitched, and then God knows where he'd be. Better to stay put and wait it out.

"He really is." Ben's fingers move restlessly in his son's hair, untangling his messy curls. "I honestly don't know how I managed to raise someone as... Well. As _good_ as he is. He's remarkably compassionate. And of course, very, very brave." He smiles a little; it seems sad, although that could just be the shadows playing on his face. "Sometimes, I think, a little too brave."

Kate nods. "Something he said, back at the Temple. When he got between me and that... That Thing." There's coldness in her voice; anger, revulsion, but also a fair bit of fear, enough to make Desmond nervous. "He said It couldn't kill him. He said... He said It still needed him."

Ben goes remarkably still at that. There's a long silence. Finally, he says, "It did say something along those lines, yes. That It wasn't going to hurt us, because It still needed us."

"Both of you," Kate says.

Ben only nods at that.

"Why?"

"I wish I knew," Ben says. He turns, then, and looks at Kate. "All I know is that the idea of that _Thing_ having any plans involving my son? That scares the living hell out of me, Kate."

Desmond has no idea, really, what they're talking about. But it occurs to him for the first time that perhaps there's a reason he's seeing this. That every flash he's been subjected to, every skip through time, has brought him here. To this moment.

Of course, he still needs to figure out just _why_.

Kate looks at Ben for a long moment. Then, surprisingly, she shifts -- raises an arm, and carefully, telegraphing every movement, wraps it around Ben's shoulders.

And Ben leans into her, just a little bit.

This time, the world doesn't go white around the edges. It goes red, and Desmond feels a slight shaking of the ground beneath his feet --

(when he was in LA he was in an earthquake)

\-- and he hears not a whine, but the heavy hum of the Swan.

 

*

 

Another hard rumble, the ground shaking, and he hears the smashing of rocks against the ground, falling down from the lip of the cave to the now-empty well below.

It's a long way to fall. Such a long way to fall.

John seems to have survived it, judging by the sounds he's making, but Ben -- 

"Dad, please," Blaine says, crouching over his father's body, and Desmond knows. 

It's not just the twist of Ben's back; it's not just how unnaturally still he is. But if there were any life left in Ben's body at all, he'd respond to the desperation in his son's voice. And he doesn't. 

"Dad, I need you to hear me, please --"

"I'm so sorry," Desmond says, slowly lifting himself up to his knees. "But I don't think he can."

And Blaine turns, slowly, jaw dropped, eyes wide. For a moment, he seems as though he's about to speak.

Then there's another rumble, and the light changes suddenly from red to white, the sound rising rapidly in pitch to a high whine.

And then even that fades into nothingness, and for a long moment, Desmond truly believes that he's dead.

But the moment passes. He hears footsteps nearby, bird sounds and jungle noises, and then a woman says, "What the hell?"

When Desmond opens his eyes, he's naked in the middle of the jungle, and there's a dark-haired woman pointing a gun at him, Hurley hovering behind her shoulder.

 

*

 

The entire station is shaking as Desmond races back inside, dishes clattering inside the cabinets, books tumbling from the shelves, furniture rattling across the floor. The low hum of electromagnetic energy shakes his bones, and all around him the alarm system is calling out "Warning: System Failure. Warning: System Failure. Warning --"

He crashes into a table, reels away from it, keeps moving until he reaches the computer, practically falling on top of it.

"Warning: System Failure. Warning: System Failure. Warning --"

Chris's blood is drying on his hands. He leaves dark, tacky splotches behind as he types in the code.

_4 8 15 1_

Then the numbers vanish -- the screen fills up with the words SYSTEM FAILURE, bright green on black, and he can't see anything at all, doesn't know what he's typing, if it's right or if it's wrong or --

He hits EXECUTE. Nothing. A deep breath, and then he starts typing the numbers again.

"Warning: System Failure. Warning: System Failure. Warning --"

SYSTEM FAILURE SYSTEM FAILURE SYSTEM FAILURE SYSTEM

He hits EXECUTE.

"Damn it!" 

The sound of his voice is drowned out by the robotic voice's constant litany 

"Warning: System Failure. Warning: System Failure. Warning --"

and the sound of something smashing in the kitchen.

"Come on, come on --"

SYSTEM FAILURE SYSTEM FAILURE SYSTEM FAILURE SYSTEM FAILURE

He enters the numbers over and over, stabs frantically at the EXECUTE button, over and over and it's not stopping, he can't stop it, it won't -- 

"Warning: System Failure. Warning --"

One last time. He types the numbers. He hits EXECUTE.

"Failure. Warning --"

The voice falls silent. 

The room stops shaking.

The hum subsides.

In the quiet, all Desmond can hear is the sound of his ragged breathing.

The screen goes black, and then the blinking cursor reappears, waiting.

A moment, and then another, and then the numbers on the clock flip back over to 108:00.

He takes his hands away from the keyboard, sees the dark smears left behind, obscuring the numbers underneath.

 _I'm done hiding_ , Chris had told him, and Desmond had only barely listened, could barely hear over the sound of the blood pounding in his ears. All this time, his boat had been sitting there, waiting for him to find it again. And Chris had hidden it. Chris, with his easy smile, his open expression -- so simple, so honest. _You can stay here if you want to. Hide from your real life. But I'm going home. I'm going back to Carole, I'm gonna see my son for the first time, I'm gonna --_

And all Desmond could think was _You lied to me._

But he hadn't meant to kill him. He'd never... He'd never meant --

The numbers tick down. 107 minutes left.

Desmond buries his face in his bloody hands and weeps.

 

*

 

He wakes up in the jungle, sits up, checks to make sure he's still wearing his clothes.

He is. 

It's not a surprise as such, but it is a little bit of a relief. 

Another flash, but not the same. He's not sure how he knows, but he can feel it in his bones. He's not skipping anymore. 

Wherever he was supposed to end up, he's there.

There's a crashing less than ten meters to his right, and he hears a man's voice calling out "Kurt? Kurt!" 

Desmond sits up, sees a flash of a plaid shirt and an oddly familiar bald head. 

"Kurt! Can you hear me? Kurt!"

This is where he's supposed to be, and he thinks now he knows enough to figure out what he's supposed to do.

He picks himself up, dusts himself off, and follows the bald man deeper into the jungle.


	11. Everything That Rises

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Holly's group isn't the only one attempting a rescue mission. Back in Lima, the Brainiacs (with a few new members) attempt to discover the true purpose of the Orchid, how it works, and where the people using it will go once they've completed their mission. With luck, their mission will converge with Brittany and Kurt's work in 1981, but luck isn't something anyone has really had lately.

"You should eat something, Michael," his dad says, and Mike blinks. His dad doesn't usually talk at breakfast. Lately, his dad doesn't talk much at all. But then Mike looks over at the front page of his dad's newspaper ( _AJIRA 316 STILL MISSING_ ) and realizes.

His dad is worried about him. Like, really worried.

The worst thing is, he doesn't even know how bad things are.

"Sure," Mike says, and reaches for the butter dish. His toast is already cold and the butter is too and he winds up with a mega-chunk of butter in the center of his toast and a bunch of broken edges off to the side, but he takes a bite anyway, on principal.

His father goes back to his newspaper.

"Are your friends coming over again tonight?" he asks, face safely hidden behind a screen of newsprint; Mike doesn't know what to make of his tone, can't tell if he's angry or worried or maybe just curious. 

He wonders, sometimes, when things got so bad between them. 

"I don't know," he says, tries to keep his eyes focused on the back page of the paper, not the front. _Why Doesn't Lima Have a Zoo?_ "Maybe. We're going to meet up at the school first. I guess it... depends." 

On whether or not Rachel's new lead bears any actual fruit. Whether or not they can actually take the scattered pieces of evidence and put them together into something like a theory. Whether they have enough hope to sustain them for another day or whether they just give up.

The newspaper rustles. His father doesn't say anything for a few minutes. Finally, he says -- "Your uncle's journal," and Mike's heart stops cold in his chest. 

This is bad. This is really, really --

"I'd prefer it if it doesn't leave the house." More rustling. "I'm not planning on re-reading it myself any time soon, but it is family history. I'd hate to lose it. Besides, I'd like to think that Miles will come back for it someday, when he's ready."

It takes Mike too long to even think of a possible reply -- he wasn't expecting this, at all, and then there's Miles and Mike knows where he is, or thinks he knows, but his father doesn't (or does he?) and --

His father folds the corner of the newspaper down, looks at him over the top of it. For just a moment, the map of the Pacific highlighting where Ajira 316 fell from radio contact is obscured.

"Of course," Mike says. "I mean, no. I won't. I'll -- I'll leave it here."

His father nods, and raises the newspaper again. "Your uncle," he says, carefully, "was a very smart man. A little too smart, sometimes. Everyone wants answers, but. You have to be careful not to go too far, looking for them."

"I don't want answers," Mike says, before he can stop himself; this time, his father lowers the paper entirely, staring at him. Mike takes a deep breath and pushes on. "I don't... I don't care about how, or why. I just want to see my friends again."

His father lowers his head. He folds the newspaper up, sets it on the corner of the table and stares at it for a moment. Finally, he lifts his eyes to Mike's. "And I want to see you again," he says, very seriously, and Mike feels a hard lump settle in his throat. "Please, Michael. For me. Be careful."

The worst thing is, Mike is pretty sure he's already being careful. Too careful, maybe. Finn's gone, Santana too -- Mike's not exactly sure where, but he's got a good guess -- and Mike's here, at home, with his uncle's old diary and a VHS tape about time-traveling bunnies. But the fact that his dad is still worried? It makes him wonder if he's in danger anyway.

Which makes him wonder just how much danger Brittany and Kurt and Blaine and Mr. Anderson are in.

Which isn't something he wants to really think about too much because he's pretty sure he'll do something stupid if he does.

"I'll try," he says; which isn't the best thing he could've said, maybe, and his father doesn't look really happy (not that he ever does, lately). 

But his dad doesn't correct him, doesn't tell him to do more than that -- he just reaches across the table, one hand extended. It takes Mike a second to realize just why, but when he does, he takes a deep breath and reaches back. His father's hand clasps his, holds tightly, and Mike can't remember the last time they did this and he wishes, too late, that they'd never stopped.

"We're not going to the Island," he says, and his father's eyes widen for just a split second, just long enough to confirm something Mike was never able to ask him -- that he may not know everything, but he does know at least that. He knows about the Island. "We're just -- We're just trying to figure out, if someone _did_ leave the Island -- we need to know where they'd end up. Just... Just in case."

"You realize the Island isn't the only dangerous place in the world, don't you?" his father asks, but he's squeezing Mike's fingers gently as he says it and it's possible he's not really that upset. "Be careful, Michael."

"Okay," Mike says, and tries a smile. His father smiles back. "I will."

 

*

 

Miles has no idea why this is making him so nervous. Out of every stupid thing they've done in the past few days -- bringing that Sayid dude in, bringing that Juliet chick in, _then_ bringing three assholes from Ohio in just to make absolutely sure that everyone notices a sudden influx of new people with no real reason to be here-- calling Dan is actually a totally normal and sensible thing to do. Hell, the DHARMA Initiative loves the guy. He's practically inner circle, on the same level as Horace or Radzinsky or even Miles's father. This is, by far, the smartest thing Kate has asked him to do in recent memory.

And maybe that's the scary part. If they've gone far enough that they actually have to do the smart thing, instead of trusting instinct, charm, and sheer dumb luck --

Well, Miles has never been good at the smart thing. And as much as he actually genuinely likes his fellow refugees from the future, they're not so great at it either. 

He sort of wishes he'd just told Dan to sit this one out. But he doubts that the Island would've let him.

The hatch of the submarine opens -- Dan's bag pops out first, landing on the dock with a heavy thwack, and then Dan climbs out after it. Three years in Ann Arbor haven't changed him much. The tie is a little wider, but then they're barely out of the seventies. Sadly, that doesn't explain the hair, which looks exactly the same as it always did. "Miles," he says, nodding, and then immediately turns to help Charlotte out of the sub. 

Miles's first thought is that she hasn't changed much either. But then she hugs him pretty much as soon as she's got her legs under her, so maybe she has, after all. "It's good to see you again, Miles," she says, and yeah, she's changed. The first time he met her, he thought she was going to slap him for looking at her. She's softened some since then.

It's kind of disappointing, actually. Charlotte was a stone-cold bitch, but that was never a bad attribute to have on the Island. Hell, it probably saved all three of them more than once.

"You too," he says, letting her go slowly -- maybe he's surprised and a little disappointed that she's being nice, but she's still hot as hell and there's no reason not to enjoy the moment. He even leaves a hand on her shoulder when he turns to Dan and says, "So. You want to go back to your nice DHARMA bungalow, or should I just skip the formalities and take you to Brittany right now?"

"Britt, please," Daniel says, shouldering his bag -- he reaches out to take Charlotte's hand, and Miles, who has always known a subtle hint when he sees one, finally lets go of her and starts walking, leaving them to follow.

It's weird, though, leading. It's weird having them behind him just in general. He can't see them -- it's almost like they're not even there.

It almost feels like, maybe, he missed them. Just a little.

"Remind me again what year this is for her?" Dan asks, and Miles refocuses. 

"2011," Miles says. "So she's sixteen. Which, incidentally? Someone's going to have to explain to me just how exactly a sixteen year-old girl managed to get her hands on plans for a time machine. A time machine that sounds weirdly like the one that you --"

Daniel lets out that weird half-laugh of his and asks, "Are you angry at me, Miles?" 

Miles takes a second to think about that, to analyze the tightness of his jaw and the weird heat underneath his skin, and then he turns around, and asks Dan, "Should I be?"

Charlotte blinks at the two of them. She almost looks amused.

"I didn't give her the journal," Daniel says, firmly. "I don't know how she got it. I have ideas, but nothing concrete. Not yet. But if it were up to me, Miles? Brittany would've never come to this place. I promise you that."

He sounds sincere enough; certainly Dan never really did seem like the type to knowingly endanger a kid, although it's not like they wear signs or anything. After a second or two, Miles shakes his head and turns back toward the van. "Just checking," he says. "Can't be too sure, these days."

"You sound a bit worried there, Miles," Charlotte says, and yeah, she's amused. It's nice to know someone's enjoying themselves, anyway. "Bit of a crush, have you?"

"She's _sixteen_." He can't keep the edge off it, isn't entirely sure he wants to, when it comes to that. "Same age as my cousin. Actually, they go to school together. They're both in the glee club. They're, like, dance buddies or something. So I kind of don't want to get my cousin's dance partner killed, if it's all the same to you."

There's a pause; Miles thinks about turning around, but decides he'd really rather not. He's still glad to see Dan and Charlotte, more or less. He doesn't want to lose that feeling if he can help it.

"So this cousin of yours," Dan says, finally. "His name wouldn't happen to be Kurt Hummel, would it?"

Miles sighs. Of course Dan knew about Kurt. Of course he did. "Actually, his name's Mike Chang," he says. "Kurt's one of the other Glee club kids, the one who did get sucked into this weirdness. Although it sounds like you knew that already. Somehow."

"I've met him before," Dan says. "Kind of had a feeling he was important somehow. Did they bring anyone else with them? Other kids, maybe their parents, or --"

They finally reach the van, much to Miles' relief. It's only going to get weirder from here, of course, but at least he'll get to share the weirdness with other people. Dan and Charlotte seem to egg each other on a little too much sometimes. "Britt's parents didn't bother showing up for the party. Kurt's dad's here, though. A couple of other people -- one of the Oceanic survivors, Sayid or something. Oh, and an ex-Hostile named Juliet, which is exciting. Why, you meet either of them?"

Daniel shakes his head again, laughs again. It's good he's taking everything so seriously. "Not yet," he says, and reaches for the van's back door, sliding it open. "Guess I'm about to, though."

"Guess so," Miles says, and heads around to the driver's side. "Well. Let's go save the future, or whatever."

At least it's a short drive back to the Barracks, so they can get on with things. 

It's been a hell of a week so far. And the sad thing is, it's only gonna get worse.

 

*

 

Glee club is quieter than Mike has ever seen it. 

There've been holes in the room before -- when he first came back to school after Matt moved, it was like the other half of him was just not even there, and he could barely cope with it. And then Puck went to juvie, and there were days when Kurt wasn't there because his dad or Blaine or Blaine's dad was in the hospital and he wanted to be with them, and Finn sometimes, too. But it's never been this empty.

It isn't just that, though. It's... everything else. Quinn's still wearing her cheerleading uniform, but her ponytail is too low and she has Sam's letterman's jacket wrapped around her shoulders like she's cold, clinging to Sam with one hand and Mercedes with the other. Mercedes is in black -- black hoodie, black t-shirt, black jeans; Tina's not in black at all -- she's wearing this torn-up looking brown sweater that Mike would swear belongs to Kurt, and actual denim jeans, which is just scary. Artie's hair is uncombed and he hasn't tucked his cardigan in. Puck looks like... well, it's hard to tell, because he's been in the corner of the room with his head in his hands ever since Mike walked into the room. 

Only Rachel looks like she always does -- little skirt and weird sweater with an animal on it and her hair held back by a headband; if it wasn't for the way her eyes are red and puffy like she's been crying (well, that and the fact that Jesse St. James is sitting next to her), she'd look totally normal.

Mr. Schue looks like he's been crying, too. That's maybe the worst part.

He turns his chair around and sits down, arms across the back, and just looks at them all for a few seconds. "I --" He swallows hard, jaw working; looks down at his forearms for a second. "Honestly, I don't know what to say right now. I don't have a lesson, I don't have a song, I don't --" Finally, he manages to lift his eyes again; they're too shiny, tear-filled. 

Mike wraps an arm around Tina and leans his cheek on her hair, because he can't deal with this right now. 

"If anyone has anything they'd like to say," Mr. Schuester continues. "I think now would be a good time."

The thing is, Mike has a lot he'd like to say. About how he knows where the plane really is, where Kurt and Brittany and the others really are. About how he's pretty sure it was all at least sort of planned -- maybe not all of it, but a lot of it -- and how it might not be possible for Mr. A to have it all under control but he probably stands a better chance than anyone else Mike has ever known. About how he's pretty sure at least someone is going to make it back, soon, and he and Tina and Artie and Rachel will totally be there when they do. About how Miss Holliday is coming for the others, and okay she's kind of weird but Mike still sort of thinks maybe she could pull it off.

He wants to say a lot of things, but he doesn't know how. 

He waits for Rachel to say them -- that's what Rachel's good at, talking, but she doesn't. She just sits with her hands primly folded in her lap, Jesse St. James being all weird and awkward next to her, and she says nothing.

Tina doesn't say anything, either. Artie stays silent. 

And the longer the silence goes on, the more Mike feels he needs to say something, the more impossible it becomes to say anything at all.

"That's okay," Mr. Schuester says, finally. "It's okay if no one's ready to talk just yet. I think if we can just be here, together, that's the main thing. I just want you all to know that when you're ready to talk, we're here for you. And remember, when someone else talks, then we need to listen to them, okay? And hear them. This is a safe space for you guys, for as long as you need it. Okay?"

Tina buries her face in Mike's sleeve. 

Rachel just sits, poised and perfect like a statue.

 

*

 

It's hard for Dan to say whether or not Burt Hummel's changed much since the last time they met; it was over a decade ago, and time's eroded the memory from a concrete image to a set of vague impressions -- a woman with long brown hair in braids, a little boy in a bowtie, and a tall, broad man with calloused hands. But he _feels_ about the same as Dan remembers him; he feels secure, safe. A calm place in a troubled world. "Mr. Hummel," he says, reaching out to shake hands. The callouses are all still there. "Good to see you again, sir."

"It's good to see you too," he says, and Dan's pretty sure he doesn't mean it, and he can't say he blames him for that. "And you can call me Burt."

"All right, Burt," Dan says, and steps a little further into the house, closing the door behind them. Charlotte is already hugging Kate and Shannon; Dan feels like he should introduce her to Mr. Hummel, but it's hard to do it when she's obviously busy. "And, um. Thank you for finding Brittany for me. Again."

Mr. Hummel furrows his brow at that for a moment, but then his expression clears. "Pretty sure she found us," he says. "Just like last time. And she's in the kitchen with Kurt, if you wanted to go say hello."

"I do, thank you." But Dan doesn't move right away; there's something he needs to say, only it takes him a few seconds to figure out what it is. "I -- I wanted to say, sir -- I mean, Burt, that I --"

"You don't have to apologize," Mr. Hummel says. "Kurt and I -- we're not just here because of Brittany. Or your mother. Or you, for that matter. We've... Well." He shrugs his shoulders and stuffs his hands in his pockets. "We've got history with this Island, and let's leave it at that for now."

It isn't really surprising, when Dan thinks about it for a second. "Of course," he says. "Well. I'll just --"

Burt's face softens into a smile; he reaches out and claps Dan on the shoulder. "Go say hello to Brittany," he says. 

Dan smiles back, and then pushes past, making his way through the living room to the kitchen. 

Kurt's at the stove, stirring something -- he's taller than Dan thought he'd grow up to be, lanky, like he hasn't filled out yet. Of course, he's only Brittany's age, so. He's got some growing to do yet. 

Brittany's at the sink, rinsing lettuce leaves. Her blonde hair is in two braids down her back -- she always loved having her hair braided. Dan can hear her singing softly, her voice just audible over the sound of the running water. 

It's funny, really; he'd known that seeing Brittany again would affect him strongly. She's been one of the most important people in his life for so long, ever since the moment he first met her. He always, always swore that he would keep her safe. That he would be better for her than he was for Theresa, that he would never disappoint her like he did his mother. That she was the one thing his work couldn't touch.

And now here she is. 

The water turns off. Brittany keeps singing.

_Some will win, some will lose --_

Kurt joins in on _Some are born to sing the blues_ , and Dan presses a hand to his mouth.

The worst thing isn't that Brittany's here. The worst thing is that he's genuinely, honestly glad to see her. Even on this Island. Even now.

_Oh the movie never ends,  
It goes on and on and on and --_

Brittany does a quick pirouette, spinning around and around until she comes to a sudden stop, arms out at her sides, staring at Dan watching her from the doorway. 

He has just a moment to see the way her face lights up before she's rushing at him, laughing, and he has to brace himself to catch her before she knocks him to the ground. Then her arms are wrapped around his shoulders and his arms are wrapped around her waist and she's too big for him to pick her up the way he did when she first met Kurt, but if he would, he could. He knows that.

"I missed you," she says, her voice sweet and familiar in his ear, and Daniel has about fifteen different reasons to feel guilty about that, and he does, but that doesn't change the fact that he's also deeply glad to see her again.

"I missed you, too," he says, and holds her tight, and closes his eyes.

 

*

 

Mike doesn't remember seeing Puck leave the choir room, or even move at all the entire time they were in there. Apparently, he must've missed something. Because when he walks into Mr. A's classroom for the Brainiacs meeting, still leaning on Tina for support, Puck is already there, sitting on one of the desks.

"I wanna help," he says, looking Mike straight in the eye.

"Uh..." Mike looks over at Artie, who's just sitting there in his chair, staring. The thing is, Mike's pretty sure he shouldn't let Puck get involved in this, for a lot of reasons, but he kind of doesn't know how to say that. 

"Look, I know this whole official explanation thing is bullcrap," Puck says, sliding off the desk and moving to stand in front of them. "I was there. I remember the whole thing with the creepy lady and the nosebleeds and the time machine and whatever. That plane didn't just drop off radar. It went somewhere. And Finn and Santana are going after it. And you guys know something. And you're doing something to help. And I want in."

"Puck," Artie says, and sighs, and straightens his glasses. "Look. I appreciate that you want to help. I really do. But -- I mean, you've already missed school while you were in juvie. Your grades are barely passing. I mean, Mike'll graduate no matter what he does now, and Tina and I still have two more years left, but you --"

"So what?" Puck moves in so fast that Mike has to sidestep in front of Artie, just in case. "Graduation is, like, seriously the least important thing in my life right now. Kurt and Brittany are my friends! And Finn and Santana are my friends! And that Blaine kid I don't know that well, but he seems pretty okay, and his dad actually gives a shit which is more than you can say for like ninety percent of the teachers here right now, and they could, like, die. They could be killed. Who the hell cares about graduation?"

"Artie, obviously," Tina says, quietly.

"Puck's right." Mike turns, sees Rachel standing behind them, Jesse St. James hovering at her right shoulder like always. But there's someone else with them, too -- a dark-haired woman with kind eyes, bundled up in a thick, heavy sweater. "Nothing we do -- not school, not football, not even show choir championships -- nothing is ever going to be as important than this. If Puck wants to help, I think we should let him help."

"I mean, admittedly, I flunked out of UCLA and don't have a job or anything, so it's not like I really have better things to do," Jesse adds. "But even if I did, I would at least consider putting them aside for a week or so to help out."

"See?" Puck folds his arms, not-so-subtly flexing his biceps as he does so. "If Jesse St. James can be unselfish, I can totally be unselfish too. And I'm gonna. Whether you like it or not."

"I don't like it," Artie says, but he sighs and starts wheeling himself further into the room anyway. "But whatever. It's not like I can stop you. Although I don't know just what exactly you're going to do. Or what any of us are going to do, because we still don't really know anything about where they're going or how to find them or --

"Actually," Rachel says, and glances back at the woman with kind eyes. "I think we do." She leads Jesse and the woman into the room, to one of the tables, poses herself carefully at the head of it. Mike wonders how much time she's spent rehearsing this; it's funny how reassuring that is. Everything's going crazy these days, but at least Rachel doesn't change. "Distinguished members of the Brainiacs, honored guests, may I present to you -- Noor Abed Jaseem. She has something I think we're all really going to want to see."

The woman smiles, takes a seat at the table, and pulls a manila folder out from her bag. There is a prominent DHARMA symbol on the front.

Mike swallows hard, and wonders if what he's feeling is dread or hope.

 

*

 

If Juliet is honest with herself, she's not entirely sure why she's there in the first place. 

She knows why she's there, in a sense -- she's there because Burt Hummel said she needed to be. That Ethan would be all right without her for a few hours, that he needed her at the meeting. That he thought she might know something, something that could be useful for them.

It's hard to imagine what that could be, since Burt himself seems to know just about everything. Or at least everything that counts. 

"Dan's mother is a Hostile?" Charlie sounds genuinely baffled -- looks at Dan, then turns to stare back over his shoulder at Burt. "Really? I mean, not to make assumptions or anything, but --"

"She was working with Ethan when I met her," Juliet says; as long as she's here, she can at least act as Burt's back-up. "Or rather, he was working with her; it was pretty obvious who was in charge. All of it, the plane, everything. It was her idea."

It doesn't really hit her until the words are out of her mouth -- _It was her idea_. She looks down at Brittany on the floor, sitting cross-legged next to Kurt with her hands folded on her lap; she thinks about Puck skidding into the nurse's office at McKinley and Brittany laid out on the choir room chairs, Kurt hovering over her. Because he was Brittany's Constant. She turns back to Burt, sees the knowledge of it heavy in his expression. "She knew the whole time," she says, stunned. 

Burt sighs, nods. "Ben said Eloise was there, with the Hostiles, when he was brought in. Not very long; she was pregnant, and you know that's kind of a problem here. So she left, so she could make sure she and her son survived."

Daniel watches him with dark, solemn eyes and doesn't say a thing.

"But right now, today? She's here on the Island. And I think..." Burt scrubs both hands over his face. "I really hate to say this. But I think we need to go find her. I think -- I think Kurt and Brittany, especially, need to find her. Because that's how she knew. It wasn't some kind of mystical thing -- she didn't know because the Island told her, or anything. She knew because she met us. Because we went to her for help. So that's what we have to do now."

"There's just one problem," Kate says. Judging by her face, there's more like fifty problems, but apparently she doesn't feel like pointing them out. Juliet supposes it wouldn't matter anyway; everyone already knows what most of them are. Bad enough that the kids are here, but taking them out into the jungle, to the Hostiles -- "No one knows where the Hostiles have their camp. And just crossing into their territory isn't going to be enough to draw them out -- the Swan was built in Hostile territory, and they've never gone near it. How are we supposed to find them?"

"I have a compass." Brittany looks up -- there's something peculiar in her expression, something Juliet can't name but really doesn't like at all. Something in Brittany's eyes that just shouldn't be there. "I have -- I have a friend. He gave it to me for Christmas. He said I could use it to make sure Mr. Anderson got where he was supposed to go. I thought..." She sniffles, hard; Juliet wonders what exactly her friend's name is. Richard, maybe? It wouldn't be the first time he's gone recruiting for the Island. "But maybe he didn't mean Mr. Anderson; maybe he just meant Ben. And if Ben is supposed to go to the Hostiles, then the compass can take us there."

"Where to go is one question," Daniel says, and looks over at Burt. " _When_ is the other. And right now, it's the one that matters most. My guess is that whatever we do, it happens right around the same time Benjamin Linus was brought to the Hostiles. Did he ever mention a date, even something in proximity? Something so we can get our temporal bearings."

"Ben's memories of this point in his life are... sketchy. At best." Burt doesn't sound too happy about that. "My wife's weren't a hell of a lot better. But she said there was an evacuation. Some kind of accident at one of the stations; all non-essential personnel were sent off the Island. Must've been right after Ben was taken; I remember, one time, she said that if she'd stayed on the Island, she would've --"

He stops short, falls silent; his whole face shutters.

"Dad?" Kurt asks, sounding worried.

It starts to click into place for Juliet, then -- the evacuation, the electromagnetic surge. _She was pregnant, and you know that's kind of a problem here._ Hours spent with Ethan hovering over her shoulder, going over everything they could find in the old DHARMA records, trying to find the exact moment everything went wrong. And now here she is, about to cause it. "January 13th, 1981," she says. "There was an incident at the Orchid station the night before -- a discharge of electromagnetic energy. There had been some problems with pregnancies on the Island before that, but after..." 

After, pregnancies had become impossible. After, they all died. 

Richard had brought her to the Island to stop it, and look at her now.

"It's the eleventh today," Shannon says. "If this is right? Then we have to be at the Orchid by tomorrow."

"Oh good," Miles says, softly. "That gives us plenty of time to plan."

And that's when Brittany's nose starts bleeding.

Juliet's moving away from the door on autopilot before she can think about it, hurrying forward, but Daniel and Kurt are already closing ranks -- Dan's hands on Brittany's shoulders to keep her from falling forward, Kurt hovering over her nervously. All Juliet can do is lean against Burt Hummel's chair, watch and wait.

"Brittany?" Daniel asks -- fear in his voice, no matter how hard he tries to hide it. "Can you hear me?" Nothing, and Dan's grip on Brittany tightens. "It's okay, come on, just keep coming through --" And Brittany jolts a little in his hands, trembles. "Brittany, are you there? Britt?"

Then Brittany lets out a short, sobbing breath, and another, and opens her eyes. But there's something different about her; she's trembling, on the verge of tears. She was sad about something before, about the compass, about Ben, but this isn't grief or regret. This is pure panic. 

Dan rubs her shoulders, cups her cheek in one hand, smiles at her. "Are you okay? Was it... was it another jump? Did you jump again?" he asks, and Brittany whimpers, nods, and wipes her nose with the sleeve of her DHARMA jumpsuit. "It's okay," Daniel says, and puts his arm around her shoulders. "It's okay. Look, Kurt's here, he's right here with you."

Kurt leans in a little closer, pats at Brittany's knee.

"I'm sorry, Kurt," Brittany says, voice choked with tears, and Kurt makes a soothing noise. "I didn't want to bring you; I didn't want to bring anyone. I just wanted --"

"It's okay, Britt," Kurt says, and whether it really is or not, at least he manages to sound like he believes it. Which might be better than even Juliet could do.

Daniel finally lets go of Brittany, and she slides gratefully into Kurt's outstretched arms, letting him hug her tight. "It's okay. What happened happened."

"Is it okay?" Brittany asks, like she genuinely doesn't know. Of course, she probably doesn't. Because this isn't the Brittany that was sitting serenely in Burt Hummel's living room just a minute ago. This is the one Juliet found bleeding on a bank of chairs in the choir room, with her friends huddled around her.

This is why they're here. Because they've always been here.

"Is it really, Kurt?"

There's a pause, and Juliet is half-tempted to say no. But she holds her silence, and eventually Kurt says, "Sure. Sure, Britt. It's okay now."

"Okay," Brittany whispers, clinging tightly to her Constant. "Okay, Kurt. Okay."

"She knew the whole time," Juliet says again, low enough that only Burt can hear her.

"And we'll deal with that later," he says, and for just a moment, he sounds a little like Ben. He's always struck Juliet as Ben's mirror -- big where Ben is small, relaxed where Ben is intense, safe where Ben is dangerous. But then, maybe the two of them aren't so different after all. "One step at a time."

Brittany slumps deeper and deeper into Kurt's arms, like she's losing consciousness. 

Juliet's good at waiting; she's had to do a lot of it, over the years. But she can't help hoping that later comes a little sooner this time around. 

 

*

 

Mike's smart, and he knows it. Everything else he's done in his life -- football, dancing, singing lessons with Tina -- that's been scary and hard. Because he doesn't see himself that way, necessarily; he doesn't think of himself that much as an athlete, or an artist, and he's definitely not that great at singing. But he's always been smart. 

This, though -- this is hard even for him to understand.

"So whatever the DHARMA Initiative was doing at the Orchid station," he says, picking up the collar and turning it over in his hands. The DHARMA medallion hanging off it is remarkably heavy. "It somehow ended in them sending polar bears to Tunisia?"

Tina looks at the medal, looks at him, shakes her head in confusion. 

Artie jolts a little, and then fumbles his backpack off the back of his wheelchair, starts rummaging through it.

"Not just polar bears," Nadia says, and starts laying all kinds of papers on the table. Photocopies of a passport, hotel reservations, airline itineraries. "Ethan Rom. Sayid told me about him; he was the leader of the people living on the Island. He was still there when Sayid left. And yet, a few months later, he arrives in Tunisia. Then he travels to Los Angeles and meets with Eloise Hawking. The two of them travel together to Ohio -- Ethan goes to the Hummels' to confront Ben, while Eloise goes to the school to find Brittany. The rest I think we all know."

"So what happened to this Ethan guy?" Puck asks, which when Mike thinks about it, is actually kind of a good question. "Is he still here, did he go back to LA with Eloise, or -- Because he could kind of tell us a lot about what happened."

"I'm sure he could," Noor says, picking out one of the airline itineraries and handing it to Puck. "Unfortunately, he's already gone home again. Back to the Island, with the others. Unlike them, I imagine he was actually looking forward to it."

"But it does make sense," Rachel says, leaning in intently; Jesse, next to her, slouches back in his seat. "Daniel Faraday, Miles Straume, and Charlotte Staples Lewis didn't go to the Island in 1981. They were babies then. They didn't leave until last August. The only way they could possibly have gone back to 1981 is through time travel. We know the Orchid is a time travel station. We know they used polar bears there, and we know that the polar bears were found in Tunisia. Then Ethan Rom suddenly appears in Tunisia, and Faraday, Straume, and Lewis travel back in time? It isn't a coincidence. Ethan did something at the Orchid. That's what sent everyone back in time. When Faraday and Lewis go back to the Orchid, they'll be looking to reverse whatever Ethan did. Once they do it, they'll go to Tunisia. So that's where we need to be."

"But we don't know when they'lll go to Tunisia," Tina says. "They might be from our time, but they're in 1981 now. What makes you think that --"

"Do they speak Turkish in Tunisia?" Artie asks, suddenly; Mike turns to look at him and sees him holding a book in his hands, staring at it.

"Arabic, mostly," Nadia says. "Why?"

Artie looks crestfallen; he lets the book drop into his lap, hands resting gently on top of it; when Tina stretches herself over Mike's lap to get at it, Artie doesn't stop her from sliding it free of his grasp. "Nothing," Artie says, shaking his head. "It's just... I don't know. A couple weeks before we finished the time machine, Brittany took me to meet this weird guy, and he gave me this book, and I just thought -- "

"This isn't Turkish," Tina says, flipping through the book. "The cover's just misprinted -- this is Tuareg. A language spoken by the Berber people in the Saharan regions of Africa. It's more common in Algeria and Libya, but it is a minority language in Tunisia, particularly the southern parts. Which is where this collar came from." She picks up the collar with one hand, the other still holding Artie's book open, scanning through it. " _Ad elmedăv Tămasăq. Lammădăv Tămasăq._ Yeah, this is definitely not Turkish. Anyone can see that."

"Anyone who's a frickin' genius, maybe," Puck says, but he looks a little impressed. "How do you even know this stuff?"

Tina actually looks up at that; the tips of her ears turn pink, and she shrugs. "It's this... thing I had, when I was little," she says, dropping the collar and closing the book. "Because I have so many family members from different places, I thought I should learn to speak to all of them. So I decided to learn every language that my grandparents knew. Of course, that was before I knew about my Nana's work for the Israeli government in the seventies. Turns out she doesn't just speak English, Hebrew, and Yiddish -- there's Arabic, Turkish, a little Hindi, some Russian --"

"Wait," Jesse says, looking at Tina funny. "Your grandmother -- what kind of work did she do for the Israeli government again?"

"I can't really talk about that," Tina says, quickly.

"But..." Puck's looking at Tina too, obviously confused. "So... I mean, wouldn't that make you... Jewish?"

"You were at my Bat Mitzvah," Tina reminds him. "You got drunk on Manischewitz and told my Aunt Esther you'd clean her pool any time. She almost took you up on it. But that's not the point. The point is --"

"The point is you're amazing," Mike says, and Tina blushes harder. It's actually really hard not to kiss her, and he almost thinks he would if it weren't for Jesse St. James still slouching in his chair, but Jesse's always creeped him out a little and it sort of kills the mood.

"No, the point is that Rachel is right," Artie says, decisively. "If what's in that book can help take us to Tunisia, and if Tunisia's where everyone else from the Orchid ends up, then I think that's where we're supposed to go. Tunisia it is."

It's the first non-skeptical thing he's said since they started; Mike has to wonder just who this friend of Brittany's is, and why Artie's so ready to follow him, but he bites it back.

"I guess if you're going to Tunisia, you should probably have someone with you who knows Tuareg from Turkish," Tina says, her hands still tight around the phrasebook in her hands.

"Sure beats staying at home waiting," Puck says.

Everyone turns, expectantly, to Mike. 

"I mean," he says, and clears his throat. "If all of you have kind of made up your minds already, then I'm just one vote, so --"

"This is a big thing," Rachel says. "I kind of think it should be unanimous, don't you?"

And everyone keeps staring at Mike.

He clears his throat again.

 

*

 

It comes to her while Brittany's still not all there, which isn't exactly an ideal time. So she bites it back, sits and watches as Brittany weeps into Kurt's shoulder, him murmuring into her ear. Keeps quiet and still, and waits.

Miles is going to be the problem, she thinks. His eyes are on the kids, intent and worried and Kate's not sure why he's latched on to these two the way he has -- she thinks it might be that boy he and Brittany were talking about at dinner, Mike. But whatever it is, it's got him protective, and while ordinarily that would be exactly what Kate wants...

Miles is going to be a problem. But it's the only way.

But not yet. Right now, Kate just watches.

Finally, Brittany stops crying. She goes perfectly still for a count of ten -- not exhausted, just gone -- and then stirs in Kurt's arms. She says something, too muffled by Kurt's shoulder for Kate to make out. Then she pushes herself away, and says, "I think that was it. I think... I think that was the last one."

Kurt looks at her for a long time, cups her face in his hands and studies it. After a long time, he asks, "So. You're okay now?"

Brittany nods. "Yeah," she says; she almost sounds surprised by it. "I'm okay. I'm where I'm supposed to be, and I'm okay." 

"Good," Daniel says. "That's good. Because we've got work to do. We need to get to the Hostiles, find out what Ethan did in the Orchid, and then go repeat the process, and we need to do it without arousing any suspicion, which might be harder than we think. If all of us leave at once --"

"That's why we won't." Everyone swivels to look at Kate; Miles already looks suspicious, which is a bad sign. Kate takes a deep breath and plows ahead. "Daniel, Charlotte, Sayid and I will leave first. If anyone asks, we're trying to figure out where Sayid arrived and testing the location for electromagnetic energy. Once we're far enough out, I'll call Shannon on the walkies, tell her we've broken down, and have her send Burt and the kids out to meet us. From there, we'll use Brittany's compass to try to find the Hostiles."

There's a pause, and then Miles says, slowly, "And the rest of us come in where, exactly?"

"If we're lucky, Miles, you don't," Kate says. "But the Orchid's like every other DHARMA station -- it's surrounded by cameras and motion sensors, and if someone catches us coming in, with the Hostiles? That's going to end badly. I need you in the security station, monitoring the footage. If you can't stop anyone else from noticing we're at the Orchid, you can at least give us a heads-up that the security team is coming. Worst-case scenario, you're the cavalry. Hopefully, that's not necessary, but... I don't want to rely on hope. I need someone I trust here at the Barracks if things go wrong. Can I trust you?"

"Always," Charlie says, easily; Shannon follows up with, "Absolutely." Juliet just nods from her position by Burt's chair, but there's something that might be relief on her face. Of course, she promised Horace she'd hand the baby off tomorrow night; probably she wants every moment with Ethan she can snatch. Kate can't really blame her for that. God knows she'd take a little extra time with Ben if she could.

Miles sits very, very still for a long moment, and then says, "So we just... Stay."

"The Hostiles aren't the only ones who might object to us messing around in the Orchid," Kate reminds him. "And God only knows who Phil's told about Sayid. If he talks, or the doctor talks... There's gonna be questions, Miles, and I won't be around to answer them. I need someone who can. And you're good at talking."

"Yeah," Miles says, in a way that makes it sound like he's not agreeing at all. "Yeah, no, great. I'll stay here, and watch the monitors, and talk. That's... That's fine, boss. That's great. Whatever you want. I --" He looks around the room, then slaps his hands on his thighs, pushes up to his feet. "Excuse me," he says. "I need some air."

And then he's gone, dodging past Juliet and heading for the front door.

"What the hell's gotten into him?" Charlie asks.

Daniel just shakes his head. "His dad's at the Orchid," he says. "Pierre Chang. He's... Hopefully, he'll be long gone by the time we get there, but maybe... Maybe Miles was just ..."

"I should go talk to him." Kate's not really sure what she can say; she knows Miles well enough by now, but then that's kind of the problem. Because she knows how much he's capable of caring, when he actually lets himself; she knows he's not really all that good at being indifferent, and she's not really sure what would make this easier for him. She knows how to get him to agree with her; that's not a problem. But getting him to like it is another thing entirely.

Shame he never spent much time with Sawyer. They'd have gotten along well.

"I'll go," Burt volunteers, standing up. "It's... Let me talk to him, Kate. I think maybe he'll listen to me."

There's something about the look on Burt's face, about the weight he puts on certain words. For the first time, Kate wonders if Burt doesn't have some kind of agenda here. But she's come this far in trusting him; she's not entirely willing to throw doubt on the entire operation now. "If you want to," she says. "Just don't make it worse, all right?"

"Do my best," Burt says. He looks at his son, still sitting on the floor with an arm around Brittany, watching his dad with wide eyes, and then turns and walks out of the room.

Kate lets him go, and tries to quell the rising nerves. She can't panic, not now. They've still got too far to go.

 

*

 

"Tunisia," he says, flatly, and Mike looks up at him with wide eyes. He's afraid, obviously so. But Michael Chang Sr. has known his son a long time, long enough to catch that occasional glint of steel, and he knows. 

Mike won't be moved. Not this time.

It's a shame he and Pierre never knew each other. They would've gotten along.

"I'm going, Dad," he says. "And I -- I'm not asking your permission. I just --" He presses his lips together, looks off to the side.

Michael waits, patient, for his son to sort himself out.

"Blaine and Brittany and Kurt had Kurt's dad. And Blaine's dad." Mike takes a moment, then, composing himself; Michael remembers his son's enthusiasm, his excitement about his new math teacher, and understands, and waits. "And Finn's with his mom. I just feel like --"

He doesn't finish, and it honestly takes Michael a moment to understand where his son is going with this. When it does, he is... Flustered. Confused. Flattered.

_Pleased._

"You want me to come to Tunisia with you?" 

Mike just nods, eyes on the floor.

There is so much work that Michael cannot really put off. There are so many questions that will be asked of him. There are so many reasons to say no, chief amongst them the hope that if he does say no, perhaps Mike will reconsider. Change his mind.

But then, there's that steel. And the way that Mike has bowed his head, like he's already bracing for the blow. Like he's already assumed his father will leave him behind.

Michael doesn't understand what his son has gotten mixed up in, not really. He knows it involves DHARMA, which was practically a forbidden word in his house after Pierre left them. He knows it involves Miles, who was always strange, and presumably Lara as well, and she was always angry. He knows there have been gunshots, which he is not at all equipped to handle. He knows, in a small way, that there is something about time travel, which he cannot possibly understand.

He knows he can't help his son if things go wrong. Not really.

He says, "Well. I suppose that means I'll have to find my passport."

Mike just sits, head bowed, for a count of three. When it hits him, when it finally lands, he straightens up slowly, stares ahead for one second more, then abruptly turns and throws his arms around his father, clinging to him tightly.

It's a terrible decision, and Michael Chang Sr. knows that. 

He can't bring himself to regret it.

 

*

 

"You really don't like this, do you?"

Miles stops glaring at the house next door, turns around and blinks up at Burt; there's a moment when he almost looks caught, like he wasn't expecting anyone to see him having some kind of feelings about this. "You know what?" he asks, arms folding across his chest. "You're right. I don't like this. You're taking two teenagers out there into the jungle to go look for the Hostiles, when just the name alone should tell you that that's a bad idea. But, okay, fine, whatever. I'm sure you'll be fine, since Dan's mother remembered you. Or at least she remembered the kids. Which means they're not going to get hurt, because the woman who helped Brittany build a brain-destroying time machine obviously has her best interests at heart, and completely hasn't orchestrated this whole thing in order to --"

Burt honestly wasn't expecting Miles to be this pissed-off about the kids; it kind of makes him feel better about what he's doing, what he's going to ask Miles to do for him. But he can't let him go on like this until the sun comes up, so he cuts him off. "I need you to do something for me," he says. 

"Does it involve a DHARMA van, the contents of the armory, and a rescue party?" Miles asks. "Because I could be down for that."

"Sadly, no," Burt says. He looks back out at the houses around them. Wonders which one is Annie's, which one is Ben's. Which one has Roger Linus in it, sitting and planning. "Not that I don't appreciate where you're coming from, but. I think between Kate, Sayid, and myself, Britt and Kurt'll be okay. They're not the kids I'm worried about."

Miles draws back a little bit, frowning. "You're not telling me you've changed your mind about Ben, are you?" he asks. "'Cause you were pretty damn firm about the whole thing last night."

Burt shakes his head, doesn't laugh because it's not really funny. "I didn't change my mind about Ben. Just..." He takes his hat off, tries to wipe some of the sweat off his head. It's a hell of a switch, going from Ohio in the winter to the damn tropics, and he's not really adjusting that well. Also, he's kind of terrified, not that he wants to think about it too much. "You know how I knew the evacuation happened the morning after Ben joined the Hostiles?" he asks. Doesn't wait for an answer; doesn't need to. There's no way Miles could ever know. "Because my wife told me, once, that if she hadn't been evacuated that morning, she would've gone back out into the jungle to look for Ben. Not gone, Miles. Gone _back_."

It's not quite slotting into place for Miles; it's close, but it's not there. Burt sighs, presses on.

"She used to talk about this dream she had," he says. "The night before the evacuation, she dreamed that Ben disappeared, and she went into the jungle after him. And she was standing out there, alone, when she heard some people talking, and she went towards them, and then she heard gunfire. And she thought she saw -- She thought she saw Ben's dad holding the gun. Next thing she knows, she's waking up in the garden outside her house; her parents said she'd been sleepwalking. That this dream she had about Ben was so real that she got up out of her bed and left the house, only to drop back down again as soon as she hit the fresh air. For a long time, I bought it."

"But you don't anymore," Miles says; hard to tell if it's sinking in or not. Burt thinks maybe it is. Hopefully it is.

"I think she's gonna head out there tonight," Burt says. "I think she's gonna see Roger Linus kill someone. And I don't think that's the safest place for her to be right now. I know you wanna help protect Kurt, Miles, but if someone's not with his mom tonight? There might not be anyone left to protect."

Miles rocks back on his heels, jams his hands into his pockets. "So let me get this straight," he says. "You're fine with Ben going to the Hostiles because you met the future version of him and he's okay. And you're totally fine with taking your kids out to meet Eloise Hawking and Richard Alpert because she recognized them and that means things are great. But someone needs to go save your wife from Roger Linus instead of just trusting to fate because --"

"Because I got a bad feeling, Miles." It's not much of an argument and Burt knows that, but it's the only thing he's got. "I can't -- I can't explain it. There's things Annie never told me, and there's things she couldn't tell me because she didn't remember them. But she's in danger. I know it. And I need someone to stay with her, tonight. I'll do it myself if I have to, but I'd rather not leave the kids right now. And I can't be in two places at once, Miles. I just can't."

That's the part that hits the most, he thinks. Not so much the idea of Annie being out there on her own (no matter what that makes Burt feel), but the idea of Burt leaving the kids. "What the hell," Miles says, finally. "I mean, I guess you've been right about everything so far anyway, so. You want me to keep an eye on her, I'll keep an eye on her."

He doesn't sound quite as certain as Burt would want him to; honestly, Burt half-wonders if it's too late to ask someone else. But as little as he knows Miles, he knows Shannon and Charlie even less. And Juliet's got Ethan to worry about. Miles might not be perfect, but he's probably the best option Burt has. 

He claps him on the shoulder. "Thanks," he says. "I appreciate it."

"No problem," Miles says. "And hey. If I don't see you before you leave, good luck out there, all right? I hope it all works. I mean, I'm pretty sure it will, because it already has, but --"

"Yeah," Burt says. It's one thing to know, logically, that this has all been done before and they came out the right side of it. It's another thing entirely to _feel_ it. "Yeah, me too."

 

*

 

Miles and the bald guy stand on the porch a little longer, side-by-side. Roger can't hear a damn thing they're saying from his kitchen window, of course, but he doesn't really matter. He doesn't need to know what they're saying; what he's seen is bad enough.

It's all so obvious now.

He remembers Kate slipping out of the house after Horace came back in. Remembers her sitting on the bench next to Alpert, cool as anything. Passing the note over, which she must've assumed no one saw. And then Horace going out to Alpert, again, and after that Kate and her friends just stayed. And stayed.

"I did what I had to to keep the Truce," Horace said, to anyone who complained. And it worked, too. All those projects out of the agreed-upon territory, all that digging. Never once did the Hostiles bat an eyelid. And Kate, striding around the Barracks in plain sight, gun on her hip, protecting them.

Protecting Ben. Always there with a hand on his shoulder, a smile sent his direction. Taking him in those nights when Roger got fed up with all the DHARMA shit and had to hide out in a six-pack for a while. It was after her -- of course it was. It was after her that Emily started to show up, hovering at the edges of the jungle, haunting his dreams. 

They don't need Roger. They never did. They needed Ben. Roger was just their way of getting him.

The problem is, he's too committed now. Even if Kate didn't have a small army at her beck and call (which she does -- even the new mechanic and his kids are on her side, probably have been from the start, and Roger knows for a fact he's never seen the blonde woman before), it wouldn't matter. Roger changes his mind now, backs out, turns her in? He's got the _Island_ against him. And he doesn't know much about this place, but he's seen some things out in the jungle. He's seen enough.

Like it or not, Roger and Kate? They're on the same side now.

Which means Roger's got some work to do, fast. He can't let Radzinsky get to Horace. If he does...

If he does, it's all over.


	12. Further Instructions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As Sun searches the Barracks for a way to find her friends, Burt prepares to take Kurt and Brittany out to face the Hostiles and Shannon and Charlie find danger a little closer to home. Blaine's journey to find his father leads him to a very dark place, but it's not the darkest thing waiting for him here.

12\. Further Instructions

 

She remembers the first time she came here, Juliet at her side, passing through the sonic fence and into the Barracks grounds. It had seemed so strange then, after spending weeks living in makeshift tents, hiding in caves. To pass out of the wildness of the jungle and into this place, with its manicured lawns and neat houses, everyone well-scrubbed and well-dressed. It felt like a dream. It felt, too, like perhaps her time on the beach had been a dream and this was reality. It was a long time before she could reconcile the two worlds of the Island in her head -- the order and serenity of the Barracks, the chaos and violence of the rest of the Island.

Sometime while Sun was gone, the peace of the Barracks had been destroyed. 

The windows of the neat houses have been smashed and glass glitters in the uprooted flower gardens; doors have been kicked in and left to swing uselessly from the remains of their hinges. The swingset that Zac and Emma were so enamored of has been uprooted from its concrete base, the metal poles twisted and bent apparently for pure spite. In the middle of the sidewalk sits the remains of a DHARMA van, now a burnt and blackened metal shell.

There are no bodies. At least, none that Sun can see. It's a small comfort and the faintest of hopes, but it's all she has. 

She keeps moving.

She only saw the security station once, a long time ago now, but she remembers the way. Past the burnt hulk of the DHARMA van, the path splits; one way leads to a second group of houses, the other to a cluster of official buildings. It's the second path that will take her where she needs to go. But she's only made it a few steps in the right direction before she hesitates. There's something -- A rustling, from the direction of the houses. 

Of course, there are animals here. Birds, boars. Rabbits. There is no reason for Sun to think the sound is human. But her breath comes a little faster, her heart beats quicker. Her palms sweat, her grip on the flashlight in her right hand suddenly unstable. 

More rustling, and a sound she would swear is a child laughing.

She glances back, uneasily, in the direction of the security station. That's where she should go, where she meant to go all along. If the cameras are working, she can use them to see, safely, whether or not she is alone. It is the wisest thing she can do. The safest thing.

Sun has been safe now for a very long time, and she is getting more than a little tired of being wise.

She hears the laughter again, and what might even be voices. A boy and a girl, maybe, talking too softly to be heard. 

"Zac?" she calls out. "Emma? Is that you?"

More rustling. More laughter. No reply.

She grips her flashlight tightly, and heads toward the sound of the voices.

 

*

 

It's easy to catch up with Blaine; for every five minutes he spends storming through the jungle at a rapid clip, he spends at least one pausing with his head cocked to one side, like he's listening to something no one else can hear. Which is probably exactly what he's doing, which should probably be a lot more unnerving than it is.

Then again, maybe Ana's just running out of energy to be scared with. It's been a hell of a day, and they're only a few hours in.

But the problem isn't catching up with Blaine; the problem is figuring out how to get through. There's something increasingly off about him, and it's not hard for Ana to put the pieces together -- she was always good at that; even her mom thought she'd make Detective one day. It started with that day on the beach, with him hovering over his father, helping him _remember_ , like he could see inside Ben's head -- the two of them responding as one to stuff that Blaine shouldn't have been able to see at all. Then Ethan, latched on tight to Blaine's arm, feeding things into his brain. Blaine trying to find his father, sitting on the dock with Cooper while some part of his consciousness went... wherever it went. The moment in the Banyan tree.

It's gotta be getting pretty crowded in Blaine's head. Hard for him to hear above the babble.

Touch seems to help, though, so when Jack and Cooper finally drift far enough back and Blaine almost looks like he knows where he is for a moment, Ana pulls up close to him, grabs him just above his elbow, and without breaking stride, asks him, "You realize we're walking into a trap, don't you? And we're gonna get there and John Locke's going to have a gun to your dad's head and you're going to do whatever he tells you, because you won't have a choice."

Blaine slows his steps a little, gives Ana a small, sidelong glance. "If John Locke had your dad," he says, "or your mom, or anyone really really close to you. Would you go?"

It's been a long time since Ana let herself think of her mother. It hurts more than she would've expected.

When her steps falter, Blaine slows down even further, matching.

"I left him once," he says. "I --" His jaw works; he swallows hard, and Ana shifts in closer, keeps her hand on his arm for support. "He was hurt, and he told me to run, and I didn't want to, but -- And it was so hard. It was so hard. But I did it, because I knew if _he_ knew I was safe, that I was waiting for him to come find me, that he would." Blaine lifts his chin, eyes straight ahead, voice full of simple, childish conviction. "He would fight, and he would find a way, and he would come back to me. And he doesn't -- He doesn't have that now. He doesn't know that I'm waiting. I just need him to see -- I need him to know. I need him to have something to fight for."

It makes sense, almost. But there's one thing Ana can't quite let go of. 

"He'd fight for you anyway," she says. "You know that, right? Even if he thought you were gone, he'd -- He'd never let John get away with that."

Blaine shakes his head, drops his eyes to the ground. "There's a difference," he says. "That's..." A deep sigh of breath. "Of course, he'd fight, and he'd try to kill John, and he'd probably do it. But then what?" 

He looks at Ana then, and she wonders. He heard Ethan. He heard Cooper. He heard his father. What is he hearing from her? 

"I need to get him," Blaine says, his voice just a little shaky, "before that happens. Because I'm not sure what he'll do afterwards."

It had felt so hollow, revenge. She found Jason, she pulled the trigger, she watched him fall... And it didn't fix anything. She didn't regret it either, but. It didn't bring her child back. It didn't change the way her mother looked at her. It didn't help.

It was hollow.

She doesn't know what Ben Linus would do with that hollowness inside, and she's not sure she wants to find out.

"Okay," she says, and lets her hand slide down Blaine's arm until their fingers are intertwined. He grips back tightly, squeezes a little. "Then I'll get you there."

Blaine nods, shifts closer, so their shoulders brush. "There's someplace we have to go first," he says, quietly. "Um. You might not like it much. But stay with me? Please?"

So clearly, he is reading things from her. Which isn't great. But Ana lifts her chin anyway, and forces a smile, and says, "Sure thing."

She wasn't with Ben when he needed her. She's damn well gonna stick with his son.

 

*

 

The call comes a little after one in the afternoon. 

Burt's already worn out -- barely got any sleep last night, what with all the talking, and then all the thinking about what they said. The enormity of the situation they're in, the knowledge that everything hinges on this one day... Dan's pretty sure the universe won't let them screw things up, but Burt doesn't have the luxury of that faith. All he has is this terrific sense of responsibility, towards the kids, towards Ben, towards Annie, towards all of them.

Not for the first time, he wishes Carole were there to help him shoulder the burden.

But she's not, and he's got a job to do. 

So when Shannon calls out to him -- no quaver in her voice, no sense of anything out of the ordinary, but then she's been playing her role here for a long time, longer than he has -- he lifts his head, tries to look at her like he doesn't know her. Like none of this was planned.

"That was our head of security," Shannon says. "Her van broke down on the way out to the Flame. Someone needs to go help her out. You up for it?"

"Sure," he says, casual, casual. "You -- Uh, you mind if I take the kids? Hate to leave 'em alone when everything's so new, and Kurt's handy with a flat four."

Shannon actually manages a smile at that. "And everyone knows it, too," she says. Then she shakes her head, and sighs, and says, "Yeah, fine. Whatever. Just keep 'em in the van if they're not actually working on anything. Truce or no truce, jungle's not safe for them to go roaming. And the last thing Phil's gonna want is a couple of teenagers messing around in the Flame. They might beat his high score on the chess simulation."

"Wouldn't want that," Burt agrees, still trying as best he can for casual. Then he strolls over to the wall of keys, plucks a set down. 

He wonders, honestly, why they're even bothering. No one in the shop but them, and there's no cameras he can see. But he guesses it's better than taking chances. 

"Hey," he calls, glancing at the back of the shop, where Kurt and Brittany have hidden themselves away. "I've got an errand to run. You guys coming with me?"

He's not sure what's worse, the worry on Kurt's face as he approaches, or the relief on Brittany's. 

 

*

 

There's less destruction in this part of the Barracks, with one glaring exception. One house, the furthest on the left, has been ransacked. The front door has been torn completely from its hinges -- it lies on the lawn several feet away. Clothing, books, furniture, dishes are all scattered on the grass. Sun moves closer, flashlight still in hand -- it's nearly sunrise and she doesn't need the light, but there's something comforting in its weight. She crouches down, picks up a book. _The Brothers Karamazov._

She puts it down again, straightens. 

A University of Wisconsin sweatshirt. Smashed plates. What looks to be the remnants of a rocking chair, torn apart and then lit on fire. When she climbs the front stairs, she sees a picture frame upside down on the porch. She picks it up, mindful of the shattered glass, and turns it over. 

It isn't a picture. It's a diploma.

_upon recommendation of the Faculty of the School of Medicine_  
has conferred upon  
Ethan Goodspeed  
the title of Doctor of Medicine 

The frame falls from her hands, cracking as it hits the porch.

She had almost managed to forget, after everything. The boats, the smoke, the sudden realization that the others were gone -- She'd almost forgotten about Ethan, with John Locke's knife still quivering in his back, clutching tight on Blaine's wrists, both of them shaking with the strain. And then Ethan let go, collapsed, died. 

And Jack, Jack had --

_Jack._

He wasn't there when Sun left the intake station. If he's alive -- if any of them are still alive -- is he with the others? With Blaine?

Sun feels her heart pick up speed, her breath coming shorter. She doesn't remember much about Jack; just a man shouting in the wake of the crash, a man trying to save lives, to keep everyone together, calm. That man, she might have trusted with Blaine. But the Jack she met in Room 23 seemed like a different person entirely. Something happend to him; he's changed. He's dangerous. And if he has Blaine now...

She turns to go, and then freezes, the flashlight falling from her nerveless hands. 

There is a girl on the sidewalk, a smiling child with light brown hair in twin braids. She waves at Sun, cheerfully, then turns and runs away.

Sun does the only thing she can do. 

She gives chase.

 

*

 

"You're right," Ana says, once she realizes where they are. "I don't like it."

The eerie thing is, she's like ninety percent sure this is the exact place she was standing when Widmore's men found her. It's the ring of ash, or rather it's the place where the ring has been broken. She doesn't know a lot about these types of things, but she's pretty sure it only needs to be broken in one spot. So this is it -- this is where she was when everything went wrong. When she saw him.

She can't help herself, turns to look. But there's only Cooper, blinking down at the ground. 

"What is this place?" he asks. 

"Ethan's father built it," Blaine says, taking one step over the ring of ash. Careful, like he hasn't yet realized it's broken. Ana wonders if she should point it out, but her tongue is suddenly heavy in her mouth. But she follows him, sticking as close as she can. "He -- He did research here."

"Like what kind of research?" Cooper asks, stepping over the ash ring in his turn, all exaggerated care. 

"Like..." Blaine hesitates; he comes to a stop, takes a deep breath, his shoulders rising and falling. "Like Room 23," he says, finally. "Like that kind of research."

It takes a moment for it to hit, but when it does, it hits hard. 

It even hits Cooper, judging by the little choking sound he makes. "Ethan's dad," he says. "Built that room."

Blaine just nods. 

"And Ethan --" 

Cooper doesn't finish.

Blaine lowers his head and keeps moving.

"Jack," Ana realizes, suddenly. "Where's Jack?"

"Right behind you," he says, and when Ana turns, he's right there, barely a step behind Cooper. Then he's pushing past, like he's trying to catch up with Blaine, and Ana has to press forward quickly to block him. "Out of curiosity, Blaine?" Jack asks. "When exactly did Ethan tell you this?"

Blaine's answer is immediate. "When he was dying," he says, practically spitting the last word, and Ana catches him by the arm again, just to be on the safe side.

And if maybe she's a little glad to be holding on to him when the cabin itself looms ahead of them... Well, judging by the way he starts to shake, he's probably glad, too.

"I'm right here with you," she says, and the way he looks at her out of the corner of his eye damn near breaks her heart. "I promise."

Blaine just nods, and starts climbing the steps toward the door.

 

*

 

The other shoe drops at roughly 2:47.

Shannon can't concentrate; can't focus on what she's doing. Everything is ending, and maybe it's not the first time she's been here, but it's the first time she's _known_ it. It's the first time she's stood at the end of the world and seen how the ground crumbles away into blackness and known, without a doubt, that she's going to have to jump in. 

But it's the waiting, really, that's the worst part. 

So it's almost a relief when Charlie bursts into the (fortunately empty) garage, grabs her by both shoulders and says, "We need to go. Now."

Of course, the key word there is "almost."

"What is it?" she asks, reaching up to hold onto his elbow. He's shaking, and Charlie maybe isn't the most fearless person she's ever known but still. "Charlie, what is it, what's happened?" 

"Horace knows," is all he says. 

And that's it, then. That's Kate's worst case scenario, right there. "How?" Even as the word leaves her mouth, Shannon's already going for the small cabinet at the back of the garage, unlocking it with steady hands and trying to think -- she's more accurate with a rifle, but it's obvious and she can't be obvious, not now. She goes for the 9mm instead. 

"Radzinsky, apparently, though I dunno how he figured it out." Charlie hovers over her left shoulder, barely an inch away, like he's trying to shield her just in case. "I was saying goodbye to the piano at the school when Roger Linus, of all bloody people, burst in on me. Said we had to leave right away, that Horace and Radzinsky were running around looking for Sayid. He even apologized, which was probably the weirdest part. Honestly, I half thought he was lying, until I saw 'em on my way here. Looked like they were heading for the security station."

Shannon grabs a box of bullets, shoves them into the pocket of her coverall next to the gun, closes and locks the cabinet, and very determinedly doesn't panic. Partially because the security station is too close for comfort, but also --

"I mean, I figure Miles'll get rid of 'em fast; he's good at that sort of thing, but --"

Shannon swallows hard. The best way for Miles to get rid of them is to send them out into the jungle to the Flame. And for them to do that --

She turns around and gives Charlie a quick, hard kiss. "Go to the infirmary," she says. "Wait with Juliet. I'll bring Miles as soon as I can."

"Shannon --" He doesn't quite grab at her; his hands rest on her shoulders, but that's as far as he goes. "If they see you here --"

"And if they don't?" 

Charlie blinks at her, doesn't answer. 

Shannon sighs, slips out of his hold. "There's a reason Kate made us all memorize that alibi, you know," she reminds him. "I'll tell them where she's supposed to be, give them keys to a van, and then I'll be right there with you. It'll be fine. I may not spend as much time tricking guys as I used to, but I'm still pretty good at it." She'd hoped it'd get her a smile; if anything, Charlie just looks more worried. "Look, we promised Kate we'd have her back. This is what that means, Charlie. Go to the infirmary. Tell Juliet what's happening. I'll handle things here and Miles and I will meet up with you. And we'll figure it out. Okay?"

For a moment, Charlie just stands there. Then he surges in, cupping her face with both hands and kissing her hard and sweet. "If anything happens to you --" he says.

"Nothing's going to happen to me." And honestly, Shannon almost believes herself. She's manipulated a lot of guys in her life. She hasn't lately; that doesn't mean she's forgotten how. It's what comes after this that scares the crap out of her. "You need to go. If they see you here -- I love you, Charlie, but you're a terrible liar."

"You wound me," he says; it's really not as light as it should be, but it's as close as it's going to get. One more quick kiss; she drops her arms around his waist and hugs him as tight as she can. Then he's pulling away, reluctant but obedient. "Don't get killed, all right?"

"Promise," she tells him.

He keeps his eyes on her all the way out of the garage, only turning around once he's hit daylight.

Shannon watches him until he's out of sight. Then she takes a deep breath, swallows hard, and goes back to writing her order list. 

She leaves the gun and the bullets in her jumpsuit pockets, though. Just in case.

 

*

 

The girl is gone.

Sun stops in the middle of the sidewalk, looks left, looks right. She hears laughter from the direction of the ruined swingset, but when she turns, it's gone. Piano music drifts from a nearby house, a few bars of something slow and heavy and sad-sounding. A dog barks, someone calls out -- "Happy birthday, Ben!" The sound of a lawnmower, children's voices from the school. Everything around her is ruined and empty, desolate in the early morning light, but she can hear, somehow, life. 

She closes her eyes and covers her ears, does her best to block out everything else and focus on only the sound of her breathing, her stuttering heartbeat. The only things she truly knows to be real. For a few more seconds, she can still hear everything ( _"Getting pretty close now. You must be excited." "Hello, lovely. How was work?" "Always room for one more, Ben, you know that."_ ) and then finally, blessedly, there's silence.

Sun counts to ten, makes absolutely sure that it's over, and then opens her eyes. 

There is a man standing on the path in front of her, tall and broad and dark-skinned, wearing loose, ragged clothes.

He smiles. 

She takes two steps back, wishing she still had the flashlight in her hands. It's doubtful she'd be able to do much to a man his size, but she'd like the satisfaction of knowing she tried.

"I'm not going to hurt you," the man says, deep voice lilting with an unfamiliar accent. "My name is Eko. I believe you may know a friend of mine. Her name is Ana Lucia."

Hope springs up in her, unexpectedly -- she does her best to push it back. "Where is she?" she asks. "Where is Ana Lucia?"

Eko only shakes his head. "A dark place," he says. "Where you and I cannot follow. But there is someone we can still help."

"Ben?" Sun asks. She saw Locke's boat on the shore, she knows he must have been here at some point. Perhaps he still is. Perhaps --

"Benjamin Linus," Eko says, carefully, "has the help he needs for now. You may see him again, soon. And his son. But for now, we are on a separate path."

Sun swallows hard. "And which path is that?" she asks, voice tight. 

Eko smiles again. "The path that leads Kate Austen and her friends home," he says. "Come. I could use an extra set of hands."

He turns and walks away without so much as a backward glance.

Sun is tempted not to follow. 

But the truth is, she doesn't know where else she'll go. There's still the security station; there's still the faint hope of something on the cameras. But with the amount of devastation already visited on the Barracks, she's not sure any of the recording equipment will have survived. And if this man, Eko -- if he's right, if she will see Ben and Blaine again --

It would be nice to have Kurt and the others with her when she does.

She takes a deep breath, straightens her shoulders, and follows Eko.

 

*

 

Inside, the cabin is a wreck. There's a table on its side, a chair tipped backwards on the floor. The walls are charred as if from a fire. By the window, there's a few jars of dark-colored liquid. One of them is smashed -- the contents have dripped down to the floor and dried there. Ana kneels down next to it, reaches out to touch the spot. 

"Don't," Blaine says, quickly -- when she glances up, he's looking back at her over his shoulder. He gives her a small smile. "It's not gonna kill you, but you'll be sick for a while. It's... It's pretty unpleasant."

_He did research here._

Ana thinks of Ethan -- not the Ethan she knew, but the kid he must've been once, in this cabin with his father, with these jars. 

_Ethan told me. When he was dying._

There's a zipping sound, and Ana spins on her heel, one hand reaching for her gun. At the far end of the cabin, Cooper is standing next to a white projector screen -- he must've just pulled it down. 

_Research._

Ana didn't even touch the dried liquid on the floor, but that doesn't mean she won't be sick for a while, anyway.

"So why exactly are we here?" she asks. Cooper lets the screen go; it rattles back up into its housing. It takes a lot for Ana not to flinch at the clatter of it. "I thought we were going to find Jacob."

Blaine doesn't look at her this time; his attention is drawn to something tacked to the far wall. "As soon as Locke found out about Jacob," he says, drifting closer to whatever's caught hs eye, and Ana doesn't stop him but she does match him, step for step, sticking close as she can. "He wanted to see him. To talk to him. Of course, Ethan had no idea where Jacob was; no one does, except for Richard. So he brought Locke here, showed him an empty chair, and pretended he was talking to someone Locke couldn't see."

"And Locke actually fell for it?" Ana asks. It seems a little out there, maybe, but Ethan could be convincing when he tried, and Locke's always had a sucker's streak in him. "He's bringing your dad here?"

"No." Blaine reaches out, pulls a scrap of old fabric off the wall. Then he turns and looks at Jack, still smirking in the doorway. "Locke knew all along Ethan was lying. But what Ethan didn't know, at least not at the time, was that he wasn't entirely wrong. Jacob never lived here. But he was here, or someone was here, anyway. And they left a message behind."

Ana peers over Blaine's shoulder at the scrap of fabric in his hand. There's a picture on it, woven into the fabric -- a human figure, with an animal's head. It looks Egyptian, maybe. "Please don't tell me that's Jacob," she says.

Blaine actually smiles at her, just for a second. "It's a statue," he says. "It was a statue, anyway. Not much left of it now." He shifts one hand, covers all but the foot. "This might look more familiar."

It doesn't, really, but it sparks a memory. Something Sayid said, or maybe it was Sawyer. When they were looking for Juliet and the pregnant girl, Claire. A statue of a giant foot, on the shoreline. "And that's where we'll find Jacob?" she asks. 

"In the shadow of the statue," Blaine says, quietly, and lets his hands fall to the side. He looks over at Jack again.

Jack just smiles back at him, and then pushes away from the door, turning and heading out into the jungle.

"So, wait," Cooper says, still standing by the screen. "If Ethan didn't know where Jacob was, and didn't know about the shadow of the statue or anything, then ... how do you know?"

Blaine doesn't answer, his eyes still on the doorway, on the spot where Jack once stood. "Come on," he says, finally. "We need to catch up with him."

 

*

 

They're back to the tents again, looks like. Of course, Locke's background suggests a certain affinity for the outdoors, someone who sees himself as a hunter, a man of the wilderness. Someone who places himself above the trappings of society and civilization, even though those trappings are what saved his life after his fall from that sixth-story window, what allowed him his freedom after the accident. But then, Locke doesn't strike Ben as someone who's capable of appreciating what he has. Always wanting more.

It's what makes him such an easy mark.

So who's pulling the strings this time?

He squints out at the people clustered around -- they weren't expecting him, that much is obvious. People drift from fire to fire, some stopping to stare, others seemingly hardly aware that anyone has arrived at the camp. But there's one group, a cluster by the largest fire. Ben can't see much without his glasses, just a purplish blob with a dark splotch on top, a lighter blur close by, but he knows Richard.

_You're among friends now. And we're going to -- I am going to take care of you. Okay?_

Richard shifts, and the light blur shifts with him; Ben can't read the gesture that well, but again, he knows Richard. Knows that he's about five seconds from ruining everything, and that only the light blur next to him is holding him back. Ben's going to have to think of something for the two of them to do, and fast.

"Take Hugo to my tent," Locke murmurs, leaning in to one of the guards, and oh. There's an idea. "I'll deal with him later."

Ben turns his eyes to Hugo, looks at him for a long count of three, then turns back to the light blur standing next to Richard just as the guard starts leading Hugo away. As instructions go, they're a little less detailed than Ben would like, but he's operating from a limited set of tools. Besides, Light Blur seems fairly perceptive. Presumably he or she will be able to take Ben's meaning.

Perhaps, if Ben is really lucky, it'll even be one of Hugo's fellow passengers from Oceanic 815. Ben's not usually much of a fan of luck, of course. But Richard is here, when by all rights he shouldn't be, so really anything is possible at this point.

All Ben really knows is this: John Locke brought Ben and his son back to the Island. Then he found a way to separate them, leaving Blaine in the most dangerous place imaginable, surrounded by virtual strangers, almost entirely unprotected. John Locke has put the most important thing in Ben's life in terrible jeopardy. 

And now Ben is about to be alone with him. No guards, no drugs, no Hugo. Just the two of them.

"Well, Ben," Locke says. "It's time we sat down and talked. I have to say, I have been looking forward to this."

Ben hasn't been, of course. This is the very last place he planned to end up. Regardless, he's here now, and there is a certain comfort in knowing that he's about to make the tables turn. 

The guards take a firm grip on Ben's arms and lead him on.


	13. The Conversation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John Locke has been hunting Benjamin Linus for a long time, longer than either of them really know. Now he's finally caught him, and that could very well be his undoing.

_January 3rd, 2011_

 

Ben puts Ana Lucia's file off to the side, pulls another one out, passes it to Sayid. 

"You've said that, by the time my people found me, it looked like Ethan had lost control," he says.

Sayid flips the folder open, is unsurprised to see John Locke's face staring back at him, although it's hard to suppress a shudder at the sight. He rarely saw John after they both found themselves with the Others, but every time he did, it ended badly. 

"And this man, John Locke, appeared to have taken over," Ben continues, voice still remarkably calm. "I want you to tell me about him."

Sayid lifts his eyes from the picture (tries to shake the feeling that even now, John Locke is watching him), meets Ben's. "If everything goes to plan," he says, slowly, "you'll never have to meet him."

Ben's smile doesn't quite meet his eyes. "Nothing ever goes entirely to plan," he says, with a certain startling honesty. "And even if it does, he might still come after me again. Charles certainly did. I must've killed -- oh, fifteen of his soldiers at least. Probably more like twenty. But he kept right on sending them, regardless, right up until he found himself banished. And of course, now he's started again, too." Ben taps Ana Lucia's files. "Whether John Locke is as stubborn as Charles, I can't say. But you can."

Sayid returns his gaze to Locke's unsmiling picture in the folder. He remembers, quite vividly, the day he first saw John Locke again. At the Flame, with those surveillance photos of Ben Linus up on all screens. He remembers the triumph in Locke's expression, the anger when Ethan contradicted him, the way he'd smiled at Ana when she suggested using Walt as a decoy. He remembers, most of all, the familiar gleam in Locke's eyes. 

"I suppose you're right," he says, softly. "I can tell you." He looks up at Ben, sitting calm and watchful in his wheelchair. Still a soldier, regardless. And his fight is far from over. 

"I can tell you," Sayid continues, "that at one point in my life, I spent several weeks with a group of terrorists planning a suicide bombing. They were... zealots. Martyrs. Fully prepared not only to die for their cause, but to kill for it. To kill anyone and everyone who happened to be in their way, regardless of guilt or innocence." He swallows hard. "And I can tell you that John Locke is almost certainly prepared to do the same. He wants you on the Island. I don't know why; I don't know if he does. I don't believe it matters. All that matters is that he will do anything for this cause."

Ben settles back in his wheelchair. "All right," he says, slowly, and folds his hands on his lap. "Now tell me more."

 

_January 11, 2011_

 

He seems docile enough now, stands patient and still while they take the gag out of his mouth, sits quietly when he's led to a chair, but John's not fooled. He knows Benjamin Linus is just biding his time, waiting for the right moment to turn the tables.

He hopes Ben is patient, because he plans to make him wait a very long time.

"Would you like something to drink?" he asks, dismissing the guards with a gesture. "It's been a long hike; you must be thirsty by now."

"Thank you," Ben says, with a nod of his head. 

It's almost regal, the way he holds himself -- the stiff straight back, the lift of his chin. John hides a smile as he goes to fetch a pitcher of water and a tin cup. Ben might be a prisoner for now, but he's obviously determined not to act like one. John can appreciate that. Pride's been a close companion of his for a long time, too.

He sets the cup of water on the table, within easy reach of Ben's bound hands, and turns away again, reaching out for a chair of his own. Makes a show of finding it, adjusting it, dragging it closer. It's not an easy thing to drink with both wrists tied together, and humiliation is a tool John would hate to use under the circumstances. Best to give Ben a little privacy.

Finally, he turns back (the cup is still in Ben's hands, although his shirt is dry), settles onto the chair, and smiles. "How's your back feeling?" he asks, crossing one leg over the other.

Ben smiles back at him; the expression is only a little sinister. "Better," he acknowledges. 

"Must be nice," John continues; he's not expecting more than one-word answers for right now anyway, and that's fine. "Finally getting out of that chair."

"Oh, I don't know about _that_." It's overly-friendly, a certain "aw shucks" tone that is probably meant to be insulting. "I actually rather enjoyed it, finally having an excuse to spend some time sitting down. I have done an awful lot of running in my life."

"That you have." John leans back in his chair, folds his hands, and considers his next move for a moment. "Is that why you decided to stay where you were?" he asks. "Because it would've been too difficult to run?"

Ben's eyebrows lift slightly at that, the smallest of gestures and one John can't quite read. "I stayed, John, because I'd finally found a place worth staying in. Someplace that Blaine and I didn't want to leave."

Blaine comes first, of course. John doesn't bother pointing that out; it was probably deliberate on Ben's part anyway. "Lima, Ohio," he says, instead, and lets the tone of his voice speak for itself.

Another quirk of the eyebrows. Irritation, probably. "I suppose it's no Tustin, California," Ben says; and that's interesting. Ben's first choice of weapon -- knowledge. "But it's not a bad place. Quiet. Friendly people. Good schools."

"Well," John says, and keeps smiling. "I guess you'd know."

 

_December 23, 2001_

 

There's something funny about them; John can't put his finger on it exactly but it's enough to make him want to stick close long after he's given them directions to the musical instruments. It's not exactly that he thinks the boy doesn't belong with the man, not with the way the kid's been clinging close, holding the man's hand in both his and hanging right by his side. It's just...

There's something funny about them. 

So John stays with them all the way up to the musical instruments, and watches.

The keyboards get their attention -- the man reaches out with his free hand, plays a few tentative chords. Adjusts volume, tries out effects. Doesn't seem to like the first three, but the fourth gets a flicker of a smile. More chords, all on the low end. The smile widens.

Then a clatter of drums sounds from the other end of the aisle -- a group of teenagers laughing and banging away -- and the man freezes. His eyes go wide, mouth dropping open slightly, like he's suddenly panting for breath. Immediately, the boy starts pulling at him, dragging him back down the aisle.

John ducks quickly behind an enormous Lego castle before they can see him watching.

"It's fine," the man says, sounding strangely helpless as the boy tugs him onward. "It's fine, I can -- I just need a moment, and we'll go back. We'll --"

"We don't have to," the boy says; there's something strangely adult about him. He's small, can't be more than seven or eight, but he seems older. "I don't need a piano, Dad. There's one at school; Miss Jones says I can play it whenever I want to. I don't need one at home, too."

"But I want to give you this." Quiet desperation in the man's voice; when John finally risks catching up, he sees the man slumped against shelves near an array of stuffed animals. "For Christmas. I just need a moment, really."

The drums start up again; the man flinches at the sound. He looks like he's just barely holding it together.

John wonders what his story is. Whatever it is, it doesn't look like a happy one.

"Maybe I don't want a piano for Christmas," the boy says; he's smiling when he says it, but there's a genuine fear in his voice that catches something in John's memory. 

Florence, he thinks. Florence in her bedroom, unwilling to come out, unwilling to eat or drink or do anything until that golden retriever showed up at their door and John brought her into the house because it was the only thing he could think of to do, because Florence wasn't really his mother but she was as close as he'd ever come, and now she was gone and he didn't know what would bring her back again. 

That's what the boy reminds him of.

Then the boy reaches out for a stuffed dog on the shelf, a golden retriever, and John's breath actually catches in his chest for a moment.

"Maybe I want him," the boy says, still smiling, holding the dog up for his father to see.

The man looks at the boy, at the dog in his hands, looks at the boy again and then sighs. "My piano teacher had a dog like this," he says, finally. "His name was Vincent. The dog, I mean. Not my teacher. Vincent was... He was a very good dog."

He reaches out, then, scratches the stuffed dog behind one ear as if it were a real, living thing.

The boy beams up at him. "Can we?" he asks. "Please, Dad?"

The man sighs again. "Maybe... Maybe we'll hold off on the piano for now," he says, finally. "Save it for your birthday."

"Yay!" And the funny thing is how genuine the pleasure in the boy's voice is, how honest his smile as he makes the stuffed dog nuzzle at the man's hand. "See, Vincent's glad, too. Because he gets to come home with us."

The man shakes his head, but he's smiling. "I love you," he says. "You know that, don't you, Blaine? I love you very much."

"I love you back," the boy says. He tugs at the man's hand again. "Come on," he says. "I want to show Vincent our house."

The man lets himself be pulled away from the shelves. He drapes his arm around the boy's shoulders, and the boy leans close to him, and they start making their slow way away from John, back towards the registers. 

John watches them go, and wonders what he's just seen. Only for a moment, though. Then he shakes it off, turns away, goes to chase the teenagers off before they upset any other customers. 

 

*

 

"So you're a teacher," John says, and Ben takes another drink of water from his cup, surprisingly neat even with his hands bound together. "Interesting choice of profession, considering where you come from."

That earns him a raised eyebrow. "Everyone learns from someone, John, or no one ever learns at all," Ben says. "I was lucky to have good teachers in my life. You were too, once. Mr. Bells, wasn't it? Your science teacher. The one who wanted to send you to that summer camp when you were fifteen, but you didn't want to go. You wanted to be normal. At least, that's what you said at the time."

It's unnerving, how much he knows; it's also, in its way, elating. "Now how do you know that?" he asks.

Ben smiles wide. "Facebook," he says, and John blinks. "Memorial pages for the people lost in the crash of Oceanic 815. I think you might be surprised how many people mourned you when they heard you were gone. Even Randy had some nice things to say about you."

"Really." John tries not to let his disappointment show, but he must not succeed entirely, because Ben's smile widens.

"I'm not reading your mind, John," he says. "It doesn't work like that. Or at least that's what I'm told."

"You mean, that's what your son's told you," John says; a muscle ticks at the corner of Ben's jaw, and John would almost be proud of himself for that if he wasn't so painfully aware that it was a cheap shot.

Ben recovers fast, but his smile is weaker now. "Well," he says. "He is the only psychic I know."

John takes a moment, even though he knows what he's going to say. Lets it sit, lets it settle, and then, finally, asks, "You sure about that?"

Ben only shakes his head and turns away. There's a long silence, one John isn't sure he should let stand, until finally, Ben speaks.

"Why does it _bother_ you so much, John?" he asks.

That takes John off-guard, unbalances him enough that all he can say is, "Excuse me?"

The look Ben gives him then is pure disappointment, and John has just enough distance left to think that Ben must make for a terrifying teacher. "Yes, Blaine is special," Ben says, and there's nothing calculated in his voice, nothing deliberate about the way it trembles. Nothing but honesty in his eyes. "Yes, he is gifted, in ways that I cannot possibly understand or explain. And the things he can do... No one can do the things he does. No one in the world. And where has it gotten him? I'm gone, Kurt is gone -- Everything he has in the world has been taken from him and he is alone, surrounded by strangers, in a place that seems determined to break him. I wouldn't wish that on anyone, John. I wouldn't even wish that on you."

John had been prepared for anger. He'd been prepared for intellect. He's not really prepared for this, the naked pain in Ben's expression.

"And yes, I would take it from him if I could," Ben says. "As terrifying as that would be, I would. Not because I want it, but because... Because it's hurt him so terribly, and I would do anything to make that stop. But you, John? You just _want_ it. And for the life of me, I can't understand why."

It's probably rude of John to laugh, but he can't help it. How could someone as smart as Benjamin Linus get everything so wrong? "I don't want anything anymore, Ben," he says. "I have what I need."

And just as quickly as Ben had run hot, he turns suddenly cool again. Raises his eyebrow and asks, "You sure about that?"

 

*

 

He doesn't remember making the decision to go back to the plane. He remembers leaving; he remembers carrying Boone's broken body on his shoulders -- the weight of him, the way his blood felt soaking into John's shirt, the tortured rasp of his breathing -- he remembers bringing him to the caves, remembers the horror on Shannon's face and the accusatory way her eyes had settled on him. He remembers Kate calling out for someone to find Sun, remembers her asking him "What happened, John?"

He remembers the moment when he realized he didn't know what to say. That there was nothing he could say that wouldn't lead to more questions, questions he knew he couldn't answer. He remembers feeling, in that moment, utterly trapped.

He doesn't remember when he decided to run away instead, but apparently he must have, because somehow he's back at the plane. His wounded leg is throbbing, his breath is coming hard and fast, and it's hard to tell with the rain falling so hard but he thinks it's possible that he's crying.

"What do you want?" He howls it out, to the ruined plane, to the sky, to the ominous bulk of the cliff hanging above him. He's seen that cliff so many times in his dreams and every time, there was someone standing on it. Someone waiting, waiting for him. Every time there was a purpose and now there's just nothing. Boone's blood streaking down his shirt. The rain. "Whatever you want me to do, I'll do it, but you have to _tell_ me! Just -- Just tell me what I'm supposed to do, dammit!"

The sad truth of the matter is, he's no longer expecting an answer.

"You're gonna have to dig deeper, John."

The voice startles him so badly that he topples over, sprawling in the wet grass and mud. He doesn't bother picking himself up, just rolls over, looks up at the man hovering over him. 

He's remarkably out of place in the deep green of the jungle -- a small man in a sweatervest and round glasses, khakis and brown loafers, shirt tucked in and shirtsleeves rolled up just so. The rain doesn't appear to be touching him; the mud doesn't squelch under his shoes when he steps forward.

John scoots backward on the wet grass.

The man smiles. "I'm sorry," he says. He has a quiet voice, a polite voice. "I thought you wanted someone to tell you what to do. Maybe I was mistaken."

He doesn't turn away, though. He just stands there, smiling, and the rain falls as hard as ever and never seems to touch him.

"Who are you?" John asks, bewildered. He understands Jack, who is flesh and blood, who gets soaked with the rain and turns red in the sun, but he doesn't understand this.

"My name is Benjamin Linus," the man says. "And if you want things to be better, John? If you want to stop things like this from happening?" He gestures in the direction of the plane, then stuffs his hands back in the pockets of his khakis. "Then you're going to have to find me."

He can't be on the Island. John knows that instinctively. Whoever Benjamin Linus is, wherever he is, he isn't here. "How am I supposed to do that?" he demands.

Benjamin Linus just shrugs. "You wanted to know what to do, so I told you," he says. "I never said it would be easy." Then he cocks his head to the side, studies John for moment, and adds, "Dig deeper, John. Dig deeper."

Then he turns on his heel and strides off into the rain. Within moments, he's gone completely.

John lays there in the grass for a few moments longer, trying to understand what's just happened.

(He spends the rest of the day and most of the night digging in the clearing. It isn't until dawn, until Jack finally returns, that John looks at the plane and sees, really sees, what he's meant to be doing.

(The hatch leads him to Mikhail, who in turn leads him to the Others, which sets off a chain of events that ends, almost predictably, in Mikhail's little shack, with Ethan at his shoulder and Ana Lucia Cortez smirking behind him and Ben Linus on the screens in front of them all, and John doesn't say it out loud, but in his head, he thinks -- _found you_.)

 

*

 

"Of course, I could be wrong." Ben smiles up at him, back to being friendly. "I mean, look at you, John. You're up and running around again, exploring the Island, learning, growing -- Look how far you've come. And what you've accomplished. I mean, Charles spent the better part of seven years trying to bring me back to the Island, and failed. And you succeeded in a matter of months. It's quite a feat."

John looks at Ben, and realizes he has no idea where this is going. He can't predict him, can't know what his next move is. He's like quicksand. "That wasn't me," he says, stalling for time. "That was the Island."

"But you were the one the Island reached out to," Ben says. There's something maddening about his smile, something a little terrifying. It's an effort for John to stay relaxed, to not let his hands clench into fists. "Ethan --" And Ben cracks again, just for a moment, his spine straightening, his jaw clenching. His knuckles whiten around the cup of water in his hands. "Ethan never would have come for me," he finishes, and it sounds strangely like a threat. "The Island needed someone else, someone who people would listen to, someone who would listen to It. And It chose you. Which, of course, is what you've always wanted, isn't it? You just wanted to be chosen. By your peers, by your father, by the commune, by Helen... And you finally got it. This Island, this place? Chose you, John. To bring me here."

John says nothing. His throat is dry and his mind is blank and he wouldn't even know where to begin.

"Of course," Ben continues, the smile slowly fading from his face, "the thing about being chosen is that it takes away as much as it gives. Blaine and I found that out a long time ago. You always lose something. And so here you are, John, at the moment of your greatest triumph. You have done what you set out to do. You have found me and you have brought me here and now? Now you lose everything."

"Excuse me?" It comes out sharper than John would've wanted, almost afraid, but if Ben notices it, he doesn't let anything show.

"The Island only ever wanted you to bring me back, John," Ben says; the sympathy in his voice makes John want to knock the camp table over, scare him silent, but he just manages to hold himself back. "So I could finish what I started, so I could finally become the Leader. And now I'm here -- and granted, I can't say I'm particularly thrilled about that -- but I'm bound to come around sooner or later. What with you taking hostages and the Island sending me visions of my son's impending death and all. I'll give in. And when I've done that, John, you become... Irrelevant. Ordinary. You will go back to being just one of many. And I will become the Leader." 

"That's not --" John says, and breaks off, turns away, stares at the canvas of the tent. "That doesn't matter to me. That has never mattered to me, and if you honestly think --"

"Well, you'd better hope I'm right, John." The bitterness in Ben's voice is something to behold. "Because if I'm not? If I'm just a math teacher, just an ordinary man who was perfectly happy to raise his son and teach his students and live his ordinary life, if I don't understand these things, if I'm not Special? Then you're giving the Island up to someone who is no better suited to the task than you are, who doesn't deserve it any more than you do and who wants it a good deal less. You're giving up everything, and you're doing it for nothing. And that, John, might very well be the thing that breaks you."

"It isn't nothing," John says, if only to drown out the nagging voice in his head suggesting that, just maybe, it is. That maybe this is just another con, and that John, predictably, has fallen for it. Again. "This is what the Island wants."

"Well," Ben says, and it sounds more like defeat than triumph, but somehow John still doesn't feel like he's won anything. "Then I guess I must be right about you. Either way... Either way. Either way we both lose."

John swallows hard and keeps his eyes fixed on the canvas, doesn't burst into tears, doesn't throw anything, doesn't shout. Inhales, exhales. Doesn't let himself think for a second that Ben Linus has just told him the truest thing he's heard since the day he arrived on the Island.

Raised voices from outside, one of them almost certainly Richard's, demanding, "And since when did _I_ answer to John Locke?" and Ben stands, sets the cup of water down on the table.

"Excuse me, I need to take care of this," he says, and turns toward the tent flaps.

 

*

 

There is one last moment of doubt. 

When they find Ben weeping by the stream, a bent and broken man crumbled in on himself, John wonders if the Island didn't get everything wrong. If Ben isn't supposed to be the Leader, if this is all too much for him. If, possibly, John himself has just separated this man from his son, knocked him unconscious and drugged him and left him to see -- well, John's not entirely sure but he remembers what happened with Boone, so he has some idea what it might have been -- and done it all for no real reason. 

"Dude." Hugo's voice is a soft, angry hiss -- it's a little startling, really. Hugo doesn't anger easily. "What did you _do_ to him?"

John swallows down his first response, and says instead, "I didn't do anything, Hugo."

And of course, in the end he's proven right again. Ben is -- ferocious. Fearless. Unbreakable. He is everything a Leader should be. 

The Island was right about him.

Jack was right about him.

 

*

 

"And since when did _I_ answer to John Locke?" Richard demands, his voice sharper than it was before, when they went to go rescue Hugo. He was angry then; he's scared now, and it shows. In every tic of his jaw, in every rough breath, in the clenched muscles of his arms. He's scared as all hell.

Of course, Sawyer's pretty damn scared himself, after what Hugo said. 

_It's Jack. Jack Shephard. He's got Ben's son._

Richard leans in and Aldo takes a step back, looks over his shoulder at the tent, looks back at Richard. "I really don't think --"

"We ain't got time for you to _think_ ," Sawyer says, and the only thing that stops him reaching for his gun is Jin's hand on his wrist, warning him. "Now you let us in that tent right now, or I swear to God --"

"No need to swear," someone says, and then Benjamin Goddamn Linus himself strolls out of the tent, hands still tied in front of him but his head held high like he already owns everything.

Aldo obviously doesn't know what to do, stares slack-jawed. 

Then Locke pushes through the tent flaps, bald head flushed red with anger, and everything goes to hell in a handbasket in about half a second. Locke yells, "Stop him!", Hurley yells, "Don't you touch him!", Aldo grabs for Ben, and Sawyer grabs for his gun. 

He doesn't bother aiming at Aldo. Hell, not like Aldo knows what the hell's going on anyway.

He aims squarely at Locke.

_He's been working with Jack the whole time. That's how he knew so much stuff about the Island. That's how he did it all. It's Jack. It's all Jack._

"James --" Locke says, and the bastard sounds irritated. "I really don't have time for --"

"Shut up." The fury in Richard Alpert's eyes is something to behold -- even Ben looks faintly impressed. "You got what you wanted. You wanted to bring Ben back so he could be the Leader? Well he's back. And he's the Leader. So I don't give a damn what you have time for, John." He turns back to Aldo, who looks less like he's holding on to Ben and more like he's hiding behind him at this point. "Let him go," he says.

Aldo turns and looks uncertainly at Ben.

"It's all right," Ben says, and God, how the hell is he still so calm? "You can let go now."

And Aldo very carefully lets go of Ben's shoulders, and quietly slinks away.

Ben turns to Richard; his lips quirk up at the corners, but it's not quite a smile. He's studying Richard's face, eyes squinted to see better, and it's obvious he doesn't like what he sees. He holds his bound hands out in front of him, and says, "Good to see you again, Richard." It sounds more like a question than anything else.

Richard rests one hand on Ben's shoulder; the other pulls a knife from his belt. "I wish it was better circumstances," he says, sliding his free hand down Ben's arm until it reaches his wrists -- he holds Ben steady with that hand, the other working busily at the ropes. "There's a problem," he adds, and Ben just keeps staring down at Richard sawing at the rope, and Sawyer's seen some strange father-son relationships in his life but this is about the strangest. "It's... It's Blaine."

The rope falls away from Ben's hands, but he doesn't move. The color drains out of his face. "He's not _dead_." He stares past Richard, at Hurley, and there's something terrible in his voice, a sudden fear that is a lot harder to take than his calmness. "You told me -- You said --"

Sawyer doesn't want to know why the hell Hugo had to tell Ben his son was alive in the first place, but he has a feeling he'll find out anyway.

Richard clasps one of Ben's hands in one of his. "Your son is still alive," he says, and Ben turns wide blue eyes on him, unblinking. "Ben. Your son is alive. But he's in a lot of trouble, and --" Richard looks back at Sawyer; Sawyer swallows hard. "There's something you should know. About who he's with right now."

"He's fine," Locke says, and Sawyer turns his attention back towards that bald bastard with a certain kind of relief. It's bad enough he's going to have to talk about Jack; worse that he's going to have to watch Ben's reaction once he knows the truth. Locke's an easier target. "He's fine, he's with Jack, he's --"

"Shut your damn mouth," Sawyer says, gun held steady. "Or I will shoot you."

Locke opens his mouth again, of course he does, but Richard manages to shut it with two words.

"Not yet," he says. "I want him to see what he's done."

Ben looks up at Richard. He looks over his shoulder at Locke. Finally, his eyes settle on Sawyer, like he knows. 

He doesn't, of course. Sawyer's the only one who really knows what happened that day out in the jungle -- well, the only one here, anyway. Be great if he wasn't -- if he had Kate or Sayid or, hell, even Charlie here to tell the story for him. 

But it's just him, facing down the fear and anger in Ben Linus's eyes.

Someone's going to murder John Locke when this is all said and done. It's just a question of who gets there first. 

Sawyer wouldn't usually let anyone beat him to the punch, but he might make an exception for Ben, under the circumstances.

"We should probably take this back inside the tent," Ben says, turning away. He pulls Richard along with him, Hurley trudging behind.

Sawyer goes back to staring at Locke, gun still held steady.

"If this is about what Kate said," Locke tells him, and Sawyer grips the weapon in his hands a little tighter. "James, that woman was a liar. She lied about who she was, she lied about --"

"John," Jin says, because Sawyer's teeth are gritted too tightly to get words out between them. "Shut up and move."

Locke looks at them for a second, then sighs and turns and heads toward the tent. Sawyer follows close behind him. His arm's starting to ache, but he can't put the gun down, not for anything. 

They step into the tent, and the flaps drop down behind them.

 

*

 

Blaine stops short in the middle of the trail, and this time, he doesn't keep moving again. He just stands there, staring at his shoes, and Jesus, he's pale all of a sudden. Sweating, shaking, and Ana barely manages to get an arm around him before his knees buckle. 

"Hey," she says, lowering him down as gently as he can, and he clings to her, still staring at the ground. "Hey, you okay?"

"Gimme a second," he says, and he sounds like shit. "I'm fine, I just -- Just -- just gimme a second. I'll --"

Jack crouches in front of him, and he recoils, shrinking back into Ana's side. 

Cooper moves in immediately, grabbing hold of Jack's shoulder. "Hey. What do you think you're doing?"

"I'm a doctor, remember?" Jack asks, and the hell of it is, he's actually got a point. "Just let me look at him. I'm not going to hurt him; I just want to figure out what's wrong."

Ana shoots Cooper a warning look, shaking her head, and he backs off. "It's okay," she says, softly, and squeezes Blaine tightly. "I'm right here, remember?"

"I'm fine," Blaine says again, but he lets Jack take his arm, turn it over so his wrist is facing up, and press two fingers just below the base of his thumb. 

"I'm guessing there wasn't a breakfast buffet in that banyan tree I found you guys hiding out in," Jack says, fingers still pressed to Blaine's pulse. "When's the last time you ate anything?"

"I shared a mango with my dad," Blaine says, softly. "When we were coming back from looking for the boats."

Ana looks up at Cooper; he looks horribly guilty. She doesn't feel much better. "That was twenty-four hours ago," she says, softly. "Maybe more."

Jack just shakes his head. "Your blood sugar's too low," he says, letting go of Blaine's hand. "Probably you're dehydrated as well. You haven't noticed because you've been running off adrenaline, but if we don't take care of this now, you're going to crash. Hard." He turns to Cooper, and says, "I saw some fruit trees. Maybe three hundred, four hundred meters back? It's not a meal, but it'll help stabilize things, and the juice will be good for him."

Cooper gnaws at his lower lip for a second, obviously torn, then turns to Blaine. "You've still got that knife, right?" he asks.

"Yeah," Blaine says, and fumbles for it, still tucked precariously into his belt. "Here, I can --"

"Keep it," Cooper says, surprisingly firm. "I'll be right back."

"Get some for yourself and Ana, too," Jack calls out, as Cooper strides away. "Neither of you are going to be much help if you crash five minutes after he did."

"And what about you?" Ana asks, looking over at Jack. "Or did you actually manage to find that breakfast buffet while the rest of us were running for our lives?"

Jack just shrugs and shakes his head. "You know, I honestly do understand where you're coming from," he says. "Really. I do. You have no reason to trust me, and I certainly don't expect you to like me. I can't very well ask you to start feeding me." When he stands, Ana notices something in his hand -- a plastic bottle, with a Oceanic label still on the side. "We're not far from the creek. I'll get some water. Stay with Blaine, watch him. Let me know if he experiences any nausea or vomiting while I'm gone."

Then he turns, heading in the opposite direction as Cooper.

There's something wrong. Ana knows. There's something wrong with Jack, and she can't put her finger on what it is, and she doesn't like having him and Cooper gone at the same time; she doesn't like not having Jack in her sight, period. But she can't leave Blaine, either, so she tucks him in close to her side and lets him rest his head on her shoulder.

"My dad," Blaine says, softly.

"I know." Ana gives him a little squeeze. "We'll get you up and running again, and then we'll go help him. Okay?"

Blaine sighs. "Do I have a choice?" he asks.

"I dunno." Ana rests her cheek against his tangled curls. "Think you can stand on your own?"

"Probably not." Blaine settles more heavily against her -- God, he must be exhausted. Everything they've been through since that trip to go find the boats, and there's still so far to go.

She can't change that, but she can give him this, at least. One moment of rest. "Then I guess you're staying here," Ana says, and holds him, and stays with him.


	14. Dead is Dead

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _It's Jack. Jack Shephard. He's got Ben's son._
> 
>  
> 
> In the initial aftermath of the crash of Oceanic 815, Jack Shephard was a hero. And then everything went wrong.

The last thing he hears is his father's voice telling him _You just don't have what it takes._

 

2011

 

He knows that Ana has a gun; he knows that Blaine has a knife. He knows that between the two of them, they could probably filet Jack Shephard if they really had to.

He's still a little surprised to see them both waiting for him when he comes back. They look like they're in the same spot, even; Ana's got Blaine leaning up against her shoulder, one arm around him to help hold him up. The only difference is that someone managed to get a bottle of water from somewhere, and Blaine's taking little sips of it. 

Jack's crouching next to Ana, talking to her quietly. 

"Obviously it's not going to fix everything, but it should at least take care of part of the --" 

And there's something about that, about Jack being that close to Ana and Blaine, something Cooper doesn't like at all. 

He clears his throat.

Jack glances up, focuses in on Cooper, and then stands and brushes his hands off on his pants. "There you are," he says, and grins. Cooper resists the urge to chuck a papaya at his head, just on principle. Jack's helping them now, maybe, but Cooper spent more than enough time in LA to know that doesn't mean he cares. He's just doing what he needs to get where he wants to go. "We were beginning to think something happened to you."

Blaine turns and looks up at Cooper -- or he starts to, anyway, manages to lift his eyes about halfway and then actually blushes and quickly looks back down. It's weird, and all Cooper can do is blink at him for a second, puzzled. 

Ana lets out a low whistle and then actually smiles; it's kind of a nice smile, really. "Papaya farmer's a good look on you," she says, eyebrows lifted, and it's Cooper's turn to blush. He'd forgotten -- because he wanted enough papayas for all of them and he wasn't sure how many that would be, and Blaine probably needed a lot so he got a lot and then he didn't know how to carry them but then he figured maybe if he took off his shirt -- "All right, stud. Why don't you bring those over here and let's see if we can't get everyone up and running again."

It's awkward, not so much because of the way Ana keeps looking at him but more because Blaine is very carefully not looking at him at all, but Cooper comes in closer anyway. Jack takes a couple of steps back, too, which helps a lot. Cooper crouches next to Blaine, who keeps staring at the ground, ears pink. At least he's feeling okay enough to be embarrassed, which is hopefully a good sign. Hopefully. "How're you feeling?" he asks, passing a papaya over to Ana, who starts sawing it in half with a pocket knife. 

"Better," Blaine says, and finally forces his eyes up to meet Cooper's. He's still a little gray, his eyes red-rimmed and dark-circled and exhausted, but he doesn't look as bad as he did. Which is a start. "Thanks, Coop," he adds. "For... For looking out for me." Then he turns, and ads, "Ana, you too. I... Just... Thank you. Really."

"Anytime," Ana says, her smile softening, warming. She passes Blaine a quarter of a papaya. "Here. Start slow."

"'Kay," Blaine says, scooping the seeds out and dropping them to the ground. Then he lifts the papaya to his mouth and takes a careful bite, eyes falling shut as he chews. The next bite is bigger, messier. Hungrier.

Ana's eyes, warm and dark and sweeter than Cooper had noticed before, meet Cooper's over the top of Blaine's head. She's smiling, and Cooper can't help but smile back. It almost feels, just for a moment, like everything's gonna be okay.

(It's not, of course. But it's nice to pretend, and he's good at pretending, so he stretches that feeling as long as he can.)

 

*

 

He saves as many people as he can in the aftermath of the crash, but as day fades into night, as the sun sets and everyone huddles around fires, shrinking into the shadow of the plane that nearly killed them all, he knows damn well it's not enough.

The problem, really, is time.

He'd been thinking it'd take a few hours for the first planes and boats to show up. Three, maybe four. But it's been at least six since they went down, long enough to go from mid-afternoon to full darkness, and there's no sign of anyone or anything coming to get them. As long as they were traveling on course and the radio was working, they should've been easy to find. Rescue should already be here.

But it isn't.

And if it doesn't come soon, every problem Jack managed to forestall -- the pregnant girl, the guy with the injured leg, the man with shrapnel buried deep in his side -- all of those are gonna come back to haunt him. Because he hasn't really saved anyone, not yet. They're just stable. They could still collapse at any moment, and sooner or later they all will. They need to get to a hospital. So they need to get out of here.

Which means Jack needs to get to that cockpit. No matter what's out there in the jungle. He needs to find the transciever, and manage to tell the rescue parties where they are. Otherwise, all he's done is delaying the inevitable.

And that's not enough.

 

1981

 

The first thing Miles notices is that Horace smells a lot like a brewery, or maybe kind of like Roger Linus, come to that. 

The second thing he notices is that Radzinsky is storming through the security station's double doors right behind him, which is obviously not a good thing for about a million and one reasons.

The third thing he notices is that they're both armed, and Kate was right, and he is so _fucked_ right now.

He does the only thing he can do. 

He gets pissy, because it's kind of his default state and maybe he can bluff them into thinking everything's normal if he acts like it is. 

"What the hell is he doing here?" he asks, getting up from his chair and getting in Radzinksy's face. "I thought you were staying at the Swan. You know, trying to fix what you broke? When the sky lit up and all hell broke loose? Seriously, why is he here?"

"Radzinsky told me," Horace says, and he's not slurring, at least -- looks more hungover than drunk, and since when did Horace drink, anyway? Granted, dead wife, maybe he's drowning his sorrows, but seriously, the man's got a baby now. Should be a little more important than quality time with Jack Daniels and Jim Beam. "That you called Daniel Faraday back to the Island. Is that true?"

"Yeah," Miles says, because he can work with this. Hell, he spent the best years of his adult life tricking people into thinking he'd chased ghosts out of their attics. He's good at talking, and he knows how to spin the lines he's given. "Yeah, because this idiot fucked something up and had another surge. Then some jabronie in a purple shirt shows up on the Island, says that the last thing he knew, he was on a plane and then he saw a white light and woke up in the jungle. Which sounds vaguely familiar, doesn't it?"

Radzinsky glowers. "Okay," he says. "First off. The surge we had was nowhere near powerful enough to --"

"Would've gone to you about it, but with everything that happened after --" Miles shakes his head. "So I talked to Kate, and we figured we should call Dan. He's a good guy, and he knows this stuff like the back of his hand. And, I mean, I'm sorry for going over your head like that, but like I said. You had enough on your plate. Didn't want to add to it."

"Of course," Radzinsky says, kind of sneers it really and Jesus, Miles hates this guy. "Of course, because it's not like we had anyone else you could go to, like Dr Chang, or --"

But there's one good thing about Radzinsky, and that's that he's a fucking idiot. "Dr. Chang," Miles says, and raises an eyebrow. "Right. Of course, I'll go to Dr. Chang, who spent months before the Incident trying to force you to stop digging. Who had to send his wife and son off the Island because of what _you_ did, who has made absolutely no secret about the fact that if you weren't banished to the Swan, he'd send you back to Ann Arbor with your tail between your legs, and you actually want me to --"

"All right, all right," Horace says, hands up like he thinks Miles is going to launch himself at Radzinsky (he's not, of course, but then again it's possible Radzinsky's going to try to take him on. Not that Radzinsky would be the first. Or the last.) "I'm sure you and Kate were trying to do the right thing, Miles. I just... I just want to talk to Dan. Find out if he's discovered anything, make sure that if he does, he knows he can come to me, rather than having to go directly to Ann Arbor with it. Do you know where he is right now?"

"'Course I do," Miles says. Hell, he spent half an hour proving to Kate that he knew her alibi. Damn right he knows. "He and Kate were taking that airplane guy back out into the jungle, try to find where he appeared. See if there was any... I don't know. Residual electromagnetism or whatever. Maybe check out the Swan after that. Hey, if we're all really lucky, maybe they'll even get there in time to press the button, since obviously Radzinsky here's decided --"

Radzinsky does lurch forward at that, and Horace has to hold him back. "Think you've made your point, Miles," Horace says, giving him a look. It's a lot less convincing when he's bloodshot and bleary, turns out, but Miles keeps his mouth shut anyway. He's pretty sure he's pushed as far as he needs to. "But thank you. Stuart, let's... Let's just go."

He starts pushing Radzinsky towards the door -- Radzinsky glowers at Miles for five seconds longer before knocking into a chair and almost falling, at which point he finally remembers to watch where the hell he's going. 

Miles stays where he is, watching. When they've made their way out of the observation room, he turns back to the monitors, watching them head up the stairs (Radzinsky starts yelling at Horace as soon as they're out of earshot, which is not surprising at all). He watches them until they're out of the building and heading off toward the motor pool, towards Shannon, and that's when the panic really kicks in. Not for Shannon; sure, she's gone a little bit soft since hitting the seventies with the rest of them, but at the end of the day there's still more than enough bitch in her to see her through to the other side. Shannon's not the problem.

The problem is what comes next.

Miles turns his attention away from the camera showing the outside of the motor pool, turns to another set. The Orchid station looks peaceful enough for now, leaves fluttering gently in the breeze, flowers swaying. But that's now. Once night comes, once Kate and the Hostiles show up -- 

As soon as Horace and Stuart go to Phil, he'll be on the alert. And they'll have plenty of time to search the area around the Flame, drive back to the Swan, realize that the alibi is a lie and Kate's on a mission of her own. If she does get the Hostiles on her side, if they do make it to the Orchid? 

They might get in okay, but they'll come out and find themselves face-to-face with an army. And that's a big fucking problem.

Miles pushes himself out of his chair and grabs his walkie. He can't leave yet, not until they're out of the motor pool, but they're going to need guns, and lots of them. 

He's only gotten three or four steps toward the armory before something pulls him back. He glances at the monitors one last time, just to see, and finds himself watching a little girl with long hair in twin braids walking across the Barracks grounds, schoolbag still slung over her shoulder, totally unconcerned. 

If Burt Hummel's right, that kid's going to be out in the jungle sometime tonight. She could be in danger. Hell, she probably is.

But her future husband and her unborn son? Those two are definitely in danger, and Miles has to go where the odds are the worst.

"Sorry, Burt," he says, and dashes off towards the armory.

 

*

 

He has to get that damn transceiver.

They are a thousand miles off course. The pilot is -- gone, dead, he doesn't know, killed by whatever that thing is out in the jungle; Jack has no idea what it is, but it's massive, big enough to block out the light, tall enough to reach into the cockpit and pull a man out and -- And it's still out there, and there's nothing Jack can do about that, but he came for the transceiver. It may not be working, but it is the closest thing to hope that he has anymore, and he has to...

Another screeching sound; the whole front section of the plane jolts, and the transceiver slips away from his outstretched fingers and falls off the seat to the floor. 

"Jack, just leave it --"

"We have to --" 

A roar, a screech, a crashing of metal on metal and then the trees supporting the nose of the plane are yanked out from underneath them and the whole thing collapses, sending them crashing into the floor of the plane, shattering glass and a sickening crunch and the wind is knocked out of Jack's lungs like a kick to the ribs, a punch to the kidneys, and he swears in that moment he hears ice clinking against the side of a highball glass and his father's voice shaming him.

 _Face it, kiddo_ , he says. _You're just not cut for this._

"Jack, come on!" Kate's voice, pleading. 

Jack ignores it. He twists, reaches, stretches, shoulder scraping against the bottom of the pilot's seat, groping blindly into space until he finally feels the metal casing of the transceiver cool against his fingers. He clutches it tight in one hand, grapples for a hold with his other, and pulls himself up to his feet with the receiver still clutched tight. 

"Let's go," he gasps out, and Charlie and Kate scramble out ahead of him, stumbling between the rows of seats, all those bodies, and out into the cold, driving rain.

 

1981

 

They've just crossed the boundary between DHARMA territory and Hostile territory when the walkie on Kate's hip crackles, and everyone flinches.

"Well," Charlotte says. "So much for surprising them."

They were never planning on surprising anyone in the first place, but Kate's not about to waste her breath trying to explain it, not with Miles's panicked voice calling "Kate? Kate, you there?"

She grabs for the walkie. "Yeah," she says. "Yeah, Miles, I'm here. What's going on?"

"It's Horace and Radzinsky." Voices in the background; Kate would swear she hears Juliet specifically, _how much time have we got_ \-- "They're onto us. I don't know how, I don't know why -- I sent them to the Flame, like you said, but if you guys don't shake a tail feather --"

"He can't stay," Burt says, unexpected, and Kate blinks at him. He looks like he just got punched in the stomach, and Kate has no idea why he looks like that, but she knows she doesn't like it. "Dammit, damn it--"

"We're gonna try to meet you there, but it's not going to be easy," Miles says. "Look, just -- I need you to tell Burt something for me. Tell him I'm sorry. Tell him -- " 

Kate stops paying attention to Miles at that point; she's a lot more interested in the other noises coming from the jungle around them. Like the unmistakeable sound of a rifle bolt sliding into place.

Kurt grabs Brittany by the arm, pulls her behind him. Burt promptly steps in front of Kurt, Sayid coming up next to him. 

"-- come and find her. I mean, it's already worked out once, right? Kate? Kate, are you still there?" 

Kate switches the walkie-talkie off and lets it drop.

"It's okay," she says, even though obviously nothing is okay. "We're not here to start anything. We just want to talk to Richard."

A blonde woman holding an old M1 carbine steps out from the jungle, weapon trained squarely on Kate. "You want to talk to Richard," she repeats, looking around at the group of them. "All seven of you?"

"Just me," Kate says. "The others... The others have a job to do. But we need his help."

"And why," the blonde asks -- there's something familiar about her, but Kate can't quite place it -- "would Richard help you, exactly?"

Kate's about to answer when Brittany pushes past her, Kurt stubbornly clinging to her hand and trailing in her wake. 

"Because," Brittany says, her voice somehow more adult than Kate remembers, firm and clear and almost calm. "I know what lies in the Shadow of the Statue."

The blonde woman stares at her for a long moment -- her expression doesn't change, but her posture does, the barrel of the gun she's holding lowering a fraction of an inch, everything about her suddenly uncertain. Not that Kate can take advantage of that -- the blonde woman might look like she's alone, but Kate knows better than that -- but it still seems worth noting. "Excuse me?" the woman asks.

" _Ille qui nos omnes servabit_." Latin, maybe? It's careful, stilted. Brittany's obviously been practicing for this. "His name's Jacob. He told me I was going to make sure Ben Linus went where he was supposed to go, and he gave me a compass so I could do it." She holds the compass up high over her head, waving it around. "The compass took me to you. And now you're going to take me to Richard." There's a pause, and then Brittany adds, softer, "Please."

She almost sounds adult. But she's not, really. She's just a kid. And whoever put her in this position is gonna have to answer for it. Someday.

For a long time, the blonde just stares at them. Then, finally, she whistles, and a mass of people come out from the undergrowth, closing in around them. "You're right," she says, sounding grim. "I am going to take you to Richard. Let him figure out what to do with you."

She steps in front of the group and starts making her way through the undergrowth, leaving Kate and the others to be jostled on behind them.

 

*

 

They run. Kate is ahead of him, Charlie is behind, and they run like the devil is chasing them, which is probably about right.

They run, and they run, and he doesn't know when Charlie falls, keeps running until the words finally catch him -- "Stop!" and "Help!" and "Jack!"

 _Don't be a hero_ , his father tells him. _You just don't have what it takes._

"Please!" Charlie cries out.

Charlie is behind him and Kate is already gone and the devil is after them and his father wants to know who the hell he thinks he's kidding and Jack --

He stops.

He turns. 

He goes back for Charlie.

 

2011

 

"Tequila and tonic," Jack says, coming up next to her, big toothy grin on his face, relaxed and calm as anything, and Ana feels her skin crawling. 

The thing is, his whole bedside manner schtick? It's almost convincing. Almost. Hovering over Blaine like he cared, bringing him water, sending Cooper out for fruit -- it was close, but it wasn't quite there. There's something weird about him, something Ana can't put her finger on. But it's enough to make her want to ignore him, push ahead. Fall in beside Blaine and Cooper and pretend Jack's not even with them.

But she can't. He's too dangerous to be ignored. And he knows too much, too many things they need to know, and this might be her one chance to get at some of those answers.

Besides, she can always shoot him.

"Excuse me?" She knows what he's talking about; she remembers that meeting. That memory is what got Ethan killed, and she's not about to forget that any time soon either. But an opening's an opening; she'll take what she gets and try to draw him out with it.

"I've been trying to figure it out," he says. Still friendly, not at all bothered that she isn't. "Where I know you from. And... I don't know, it just hit me. The airport lounge, tequila and tonic -- We were supposed to have the next drink on the plane. Guess that didn't work out so well." He stares at her for a little too long -- long enough that she's on the verge of reaching for her gun when he finally adds, "You remember. I can tell. You remember."

"That was a long time ago," Ana says, and slants her eyes his direction for just a second, just the briefest moment before she looks back up at Blaine's curly head bobbing in front of them. It's getting dim -- it'll be dark soon. She'll have to push the pace, stick close so she doesn't lose Blaine to the night. "For the record, I'm not interested in drinks anymore. In case you were getting your hopes up."

Jack chuckles, ducks his head, finally breaking eye contact. "Guess I have that coming," he says, with a shrug. "Like I said, Ana, I know you don't like me being here. And you've got your reasons; I won't deny that. But just so you know? I'm really glad that I got to see you again. If it wasn't for you -- I mean, it's not like I don't think Blaine could've done it without you. He's a tough kid. There's not much he can't handle. But you and Cooper made it a lot easier. And I'm really grateful for that."

Something's wrong. Ana doesn't know what it is exactly; she can't put a name to it. But every instinct in her is screaming that she needs to get away, get away now, and the only thing that keeps her from running blindly forward is her years of training as a police officer. "Yeah, like you care," she mutters, hurrying forward, one hand reaching for her gun. She needs to get to Blaine and Cooper, needs to get them running, needs to --

"See, that's the thing." Jack grabs her by the arm and pulls her to a stop; he's stronger than he should be, a grip that she can't pull away from as hard as she fights, and Ana's heart starts trying to hammer its way out of her chest. "I do care. And believe me, Ana, if I thought for a second I could do this any other way, I would. But I can't. So as much as I appreciate everything you've done to help me bring Blaine this far, it's time for you to go."

She freezes; caught in his grip, heart pounding wildly, breath rough in her lungs, Ana goes blank and numb for far too long. It's not until she hears the chittering in the distance, that gurgling sound, the ratcheting noise of a New York City subway and the strangely muffled roar that she realizes. 

She twists in Jack's hold, gets one hand on her gun. It won't do much, but she has to try. "Run!" she calls out, loud as she can, and hopes to God they hear her. "Blaine! Cooper! _Run!_ "

 

*

 

Charlie's okay.

He tries to tell himself that, over and over again, tries to remember -- He picked Charlie up. Got him on his feet again. Got him moving.

No matter what happens now, no matter if this is the last thing he ever sees, he did that. He went back, and he got Charlie out from underneath that... that thing, and he saved him.

But he can hear his father, somewhere out there in the white light. _You're not a hero, Jack. You just don't have what it takes._

"You're wrong," he says, and tries with all his might to believe it. "You're wrong. I saved people. I saved Charlie. I can do this. I just need a chance."

His father steps forward, out of the rain, somehow suddenly perfectly clear. "You know something, kiddo?" he says. "Maybe you're right. Maybe you do have what it takes. But on the other hand, maybe you don't. And I'm not willing to waste my time just for you to prove me wrong. So that chance you're looking for? I'm afraid I can't give it to you. Sorry."

And then the light dies, and there's nothing but black smoke, and pain, and screaming.

And the last thing he hears is his father's voice, telling him _You just don't have what it takes._

 

2011

 

He's barely even had a chance to notice how far ahead they are, how far behind Ana is, and he's just starting to think about saying something to Blaine (the color finally back in his cheeks, his steps picking up speed), when he hears that sound again. That weird, growling, bubbling percolater sound. And this time, he knows what it means.

Then he hears her -- "Run! Blaine! Cooper! _Run!_ " -- and that is so much worse. 

"Ana," Blaine gasps, and Cooper grabs him by the arm before he can turn back. "No, Coop, we have to -- It's _Ana_ , we have to --"

"We _can't_." Cooper's voice breaks, but his grip holds firm, and when Blaine digs his heels in, Cooper pulls hard enough that Blaine loses his balance and falls into Cooper's side, allowing Cooper to wrap an arm around his waist and start half-carrying him forward. "I know, and I'm sorry, but there's nothing we can do."

Blaine twists, and shoves, and calls out "Ana!" again, but this is where Cooper came in and he's not stopping now. He's here because he decided Blaine was worth saving, and nothing is changing his mind. Nothing at all.

"She's gone, Blaine," he says, still moving forward, dragging Blaine with him as best he can. "She's gone, but your dad's not, and I'm not -- I can't let you go back there. He needs you."

And just like before, that's what drains the fight out of Blaine; he stops trying to push away from Cooper, clings to his shoulder again. "Ana," he says, softly.

"I know." Cooper loosens his grip on Blaine's waist, lets him get his feet more fully under him, his own steps speeding up as Blaine finally starts to move. "I know, and I'm sorry, but it's too late."

Gunshots -- one, two, three of them -- and then that roar again, trees splintering behind them, and Blaine finally starts to run, Cooper matching him step for step, one hand still wrapped tight around Blaine's wrist.

He knows it's going to hurt. When he lets it hurt, when there's time -- 

But there's no time now. 

All he can do is make sure Blaine keeps running.


	15. The Lamb

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Richard knows that Jacob sent Brittany S. Pierce to him for a reason, just like he sent Kate Austen. It's a shame Jacob never told him what that reason was. Of course, it's possible that he'll understand it better when Ben returns to the Island thirty years later. But that doesn't mean he's going to like it. Especially when it means Blaine is in the custody of a dead man, desperately seeking to save his father by any means necessary.

1981

 

He's never seen Eloise this shaken before.

Truth to tell, he's a little shaken up himself. He still has the note Kate gave him, the paper soft and worn, edges tattered, ink starting to fade. He's been looking at it more and more these days -- Jacob's handwriting, telling him, _She has to raise him._ For a long time, he wondered just who Kate was supposed to raise. Then Roger Linus found them, and Jacob told Richard what to offer, and now --

But Benjamin Linus isn't here. Later, if all goes well. Right now, Richard has a different problem. 

The girl looks young, even to him -- sixteen, perhaps. Seventeen at most. The boy next to her can't be any older. But they're the ones in front of the group; the adults are all clustered behind. They're the ones Richard needs to deal with. 

_She said that Jacob sent her_ , Eloise said, her voice hushed and quiet and still somehow sharp with fear. _And I don't think she was lying, Richard. She knew about the Shadow of the Statue, she knew the answer to the question -- How does a member of the DHARMA Initiative know all that?_

But she isn't DHARMA, any more than Kate Austen is. Richard doesn't know much about her, but he knows that, at least. Whoever this child is, she isn't DHARMA, but something else entirely. The question is what.

There's only one way to find out. 

Richard moves forward. The girl stays still as a statue, watching Richard with wide eyes, but her friend crowds in next to her, doing his best to block her from view. 

"It's all right," Richard says, lifting his hands to show he's unarmed. It won't help much; they're surrounded by men and women with guns and Richard doesn't expect the boy to ignore that. But it's respectful, anyway, and Richard's a firm believer in showing respect until he's been given a reason to do otherwise. "Eloise told me you were here to talk, and talking is all I plan on doing. You're safe. All of you."

He glances up quickly to check on Charles, sees him scowling, and raises an eyebrow at him.

After a long moment, Charles settles.

"My name is Richard." He takes another step forward; both children hold their ground, still clasping one another's hands. He wonders what they are to each other -- friends, possibly even siblings? They don't look much alike, but enough, perhaps. "What's yours?"

"I'm Brittany," the girl says. "And this is Kurt, and his dad, and Daniel, and Charlotte, and Kate, and Sayid. And... And it's nice to meet you."

She even musters a smile, although it's not as convincing as she'd like it to be. She's clinging so tightly to Kurt's hand that her knuckles have gone white; God only knows what Jacob might have told her about Richard or the other people on the Island, but she's clearly terrified. She doesn't falter, though. Richard admires that.

"It's nice to meet you too," he says, smiling back at her, doing his best to put her at ease. "All of you." He takes his attention off the girl for a moment, looks at the group gathered together behind her. Kate's the only one he recognizes, of course. But it's easy to pick out Kurt's father -- they have the same eyes, the same way of standing, chin tilted up defiantly. The man in the tie -- Daniel, presumably -- reminds Richard of someone, although he couldn't say who. Sayid and Charlotte are entirely unfamiliar. All in all, they're an odd group for Jacob to send his way. There'll be a reason for each of them, of course. There always is.

He turns back to Brittany -- she's not smiling anymore, a little of the nervousness starting to show. "Eloise told me," he says, trying to keep his voice as soothing as he can make it, "that Jacob gave you a compass. Is that true? Can I see it?"

"Eloise?" Brittany's eyes flick nervously to Eloise, standing behind Richard with her weapon at her side. There's a certain spark of recognition in her eyes; something that Richard can grasp hold of, use to draw a little information out. "That's Eloise."

"Yes, this is Eloise." Richard catches Eloise by the elbow, pulls her forward a little bit; she's tense, but doesn't fight him. "Did Jacob tell you something about Eloise, Brittany? Is that how you know her?"

Brittany shakes her head, glances at Kurt standing next to her, as if looking for help. 

"It's okay," Kurt says, softly. "I think you should tell them."

"Tell us what?" Eloise snaps, and Richard keeps tight hold of her arm, just in case.

Then Kate steps forward, moving slowly with her hands upraised. "A few years ago," she says, eyes on Richard. "When we met. I told you that I traveled back in time in order to give you a note. You remember that?"

Richard laughs at that, actually laughs because the question is so absurd. "You think I would forget?" he asks her, shaking his head. Then it hits -- what she's implying, what it means in the context of the rest of the discussion. He blinks, turns back to Brittany, who now has Kurt's hand in both hers, eyes fixed on the ground. "Brittany," he says, quietly. "What Kate's saying -- Is that true? Did you travel back in time, like she did?"

"No," Brittany said. "I used a plane. She used an Orchid. But I think maybe the Orchid can send me back when I'm supposed to be, if Eloise tells me how."

_She used an Orchid_. Richard knows about all of the DHARMA Stations, where each one is built, what they tell their people the stations are being used for, what they're actually being used for. When work started on the Orchid, Jacob told him to let it happen, to let them dig. Richard couldn't understand why at the time, but he thinks maybe now he knows.

He looks at Eloise, watching him with a tight mouth and worried eyes, one hand still clutching her rifle tight. 

"Please," Brittany says, and actually takes a step forward, heedless of the guns all around her. "I know this is where Mr. Anderson is supposed to be now, because he's just Ben and he hasn't adopted Blaine or anything yet. But I don't want him here forever. I want him to come home with us, and I can't help him from here. Or now. Or whatever. Please. Just let me go back."

Richard doesn't ask her who Mr. Anderson is. He has a feeling he already knows. 

_He's just Ben._

Jacob has done a lot of things that Richard doesn't fully understand. This might top them all.

He rests a hand on Brittany's shoulder, smiles at her as best he can. "Let me talk to Eloise and Charles for a moment, all right? And we'll see if we can't find some way of helping you. Just give us a few minutes. Okay?"

Brittany looks at him with suspicious blue eyes for a few seconds, then nods and slips silently out of his grip.

The truth is, Richard already knows what he has to do. Getting Eloise to accept that -- Getting Charles -- Well, that'll take him some time.

Sometimes, he wishes he hadn't taken Jacob's offer. 

 

2011

 

Ben is shaking. 

Not much, not enough to disrupt Elliott's careful work, needle and thread pulling Ben's skin back together; just enough so that Richard can feel it through the hand laid on Ben's skinny shoulder. He supposes he could let go -- Ben's not calm exactly, but he's settled down significantly now that Locke's been gagged. He could let go, but he doesn't.

It's been a long time since he's seen Ben, longer still since they've been this close. He supposes that's reason enough to stay where he is.

"About how long ago did the hallucinations stop?" Elliott asks, drawing the needle through, pulling the thread behind it. Strange to watch Ben come together so quickly.

The stitching of wounds is always the easiest part. 

"To be honest, I'm not so sure they have." It's almost a joke, but Ben's not smiling; he closes his eyes, breathes for a few seconds. He's still trembling faintly underneath Richard's hand.

Elliott smiles, even though Ben can't see him. "Is this about the tattoos again?" he asks, voice warm, amused. Very patient, particularly for someone his age. It strikes Richard, suddenly, that Blaine must be nearly as old as Elliott now. 

"I was thinking more about the holes in your ears." He says it as calmly as he can, which isn't very. He's struggling now. "The last was... by the creek, where Hugo and John found me. Then we came here, I talked to John, so... Eight hours? A little more?"

"More like ten," Hugo says, from the corner of the tent. He's been unnaturally quiet, stone-faced. Richard never spent much time with Hugo, but this kind of anger doesn't seem natural to him. Whatever Locke did... 

And then Richard realizes that he knows exactly what Locke did.

"Outside the tent," he says, slowly. "You said Hugo told you that Blaine wasn't dead. Did you -- Is that what you saw, Ben? Did you see your son --"

Even Elliott freezes at that, pausing with his needle just touching Ben's skin. 

"He said..." Ben falters briefly; Richard can't tell if the cause is anger or grief. Probably both. "He said it was what the Island needed me to see."

There's a long silence, broken finally by Sawyer. "Remind me why we're not killing Locke again?"

One hand still on Ben's trembling shoulder, Richard looks across the tent, meets Locke's wide blue eyes. He's terrified, that much is obvious. But he's still not half as frightened as Richard is. 

"Because," Richard says, finally. "That would be too easy."

Ben tenses slightly beneath Richard's hand, and Richard waits for the questions to start. They've known each other a long time, he and Ben, and it's impossible that Ben hasn't realized yet how much Richard is holding back -- how much he knows, and how little he's explained. Sooner or later, he's going to want more than Richard's given.

But apparently, the answer is later, because Ben sighs again, relaxing, and Elliott goes back to work on the gash on his forehead. It's nearly closed -- another stitch or two, and he'll be back together again. Whole.

It won't be as easy to put Blaine back together again. If they can't reach him in time; if they can't stop him --

Ben reaches up and lays a hand over Richard's. "You're shaking," he says, quietly. "I don't think I've ever seen you frightened before, Richard."

There are a thousand glib answers to that; because it's Ben, Richard opts for the truth instead. "You have," he says. "Just not like this."

"Well, that's not very comforting," Ben says, quick and dry. His hand stays on Richard's, firm pressure. Almost as though he's trying to provide comfort himself.

He probably is, of course. Ben's not a child, hasn't been for a long time. He's old enough to want to do for Richard what Richard spent so many years trying to do for him. It's how these things tend to go, but it still feels strange.

Ben's not a child, and he was never really Richard's, but in a lot of ways, he was. 

In a lot of ways, he still is.

Richard should go find Ben some new glasses. He should arrange for someone to lead the rest of their people to the Temple, in case everything goes wrong. He should do a lot of things.

He stays where he is, one hand on Ben's shoulder, and watches Elliott tie off the thread.

 

1981

 

It's not going the way Kate would've expected it to go. 

That's probably the understatement of the century.

On the other hand, no one's been shot yet, so she guesses it could be worse.

Brittany sits on the ground next to Kurt, her eyes focused on nothing in particular, staring absently into space. Kate worries, a little -- she had that attack in Burt's house last night, and she said it was the last one, but -- 

"Maybe you should've done it," Britt says, unexpectedly. "I don't think he listened to me. No one ever listens to me."

"I listen to you." Kurt squeezes her close, tries to make her smile. "And Mr. Anderson listens to you. And my dad, and Daniel --"

"You did great, Britt," Daniel says, one hand resting on her knee. "Really. I think this is going to work. I really do."

Then he glances at Burt, as if waiting for him to add something. Kurt looks at his father, too, expectant.

Burt says nothing; his eyes are down and he's staring at his hands. 

Kate hasn't known Burt that long, but she knows this isn't like him. He'd never ignore the kids like this, not unless something was really bothering him. 

"What is it?" Kate asks, scooting over next to him (one eye on the armed guards surrounding them). "What's wrong?"

Burt sighs, shakes his head, doesn't look up. "It's Annie," he says, soft. He flicks his eyes over to Kurt, like he's hoping his son didn't hear; Kurt is pointedly looking in the other direction, not-listening in the most obvious of ways. Burt works his jaw, like he's chewing over his next words. Then he sighs, and his eyes drop back down to his hands again. It's surrender of a sort. 

"When Annie was... sick, towards the end of it, she got fixated on this. You know, tonight. The night Ben disappeared. From what she told me, she woke up scared in the middle of the night, and she... She could never say how she knew. She just knew. So she went to Ben's house, and he was gone, and then she went to the fence, and it was off, and she went into the jungle. Looked for him."

Kurt's not even pretending he's not listening now; his eyes are fixed on his father, as are Brittany's and Sayid's and Daniel's. Only Charlotte seems less than interested, peering off into the middle distance as if there's something fascinating on the horizon. 

"She got lost, after a while," Burt continues, still staring at his hands. "Couldn't find Ben, couldn't find her way back. Then she heard gunshots. Which, obviously, scared the crap out of her. She started running, but at that point she was so turned around -- She actually saw him, just for a second. Ben's dad. Saw him out there, in the jungle, with a gun. And she was pretty sure he saw her, and I remember her telling me that just for a moment, she thought she was dead. 

"But then someone grabbed her, and the next thing she knew, she was in the front yard outside her house." 

Burt smiles a little. "Her parents always used to tell me about that, how she was a sleepwalker when she was little. And I think for a long time she thought it was just a real elaborate dream. But towards the end... Towards the end it got a lot more real, and I always wondered." This time, when he looks over at Kurt, his eyes stay locked on his son for a long time. "Then Ben told us about his dad taking him to the Hostiles, and I knew. It wasn't a dream. It happened. She's gonna be out there tonight, waiting for someone to come and find her and take her home."

"And you thought it was going to be one of the others," Sayid says.

That little outburst he had when Miles called on the walkie, right before it all went to hell --

"I already talked to Miles," Burt says. "He said he'd do it for me, since he couldn't come with us. But now --"

"So?" Charlotte's finally caught up to the rest of them, eyes on Burt, but there's still something off about her face -- eyes bluer than usual, skin pale beneath the freckles. "So Miles doesn't follow her. Someone else will. The whole point is that everything we're doing now has already happened, isn't it? It doesn't matter what we do. Everything's going to work out fine. It already has."

"Everything we do matters," Kurt says, softly; his eyes are on his father, and Kate's still not sure what all is going on in Burt's head, but she can tell that his son's already figured it out. "It's all that matters."

_So Miles doesn't follow her. Someone else will._

Then Richard's sweeping out of his tent again, Eloise and Charles following behind him, and Brittany springs up to her feet, Kurt immediately doing likewise. The others move up more slowly; Burt in particular stands like he's fighting gravity, both eyes on his son, and Kate knows what Kurt knows; she knows what Burt's going to do.

_If I don't meet Annie, that kid's never gonna be born._

"Well, it wasn't an easy decision to come to," Richard says, and Kate almost laughs, because he doesn't even know. "But Eloise has agreed to take you to the Orchid, and explain what happens next. Obviously, she can't go down there; what happens next is up to you. But if Jacob sent you here, then I'm sure you'll be able to handle it."

Kurt looks at Brittany, pained; he looks back at his father. "Dad," he says, voice choked. "I can't -- I came to help Brittany, and I can't --"

"It's okay," Kate says; she steps up next to Burt, takes his hand in hers; he blinks at her with puzzled, watery eyes. "I'll stay with your dad. Keep him safe for you. Besides," she says, glancing over at Richard. "Richard and I have some catching up to do."

"I'm not so sure this is a good idea," Sayid says, frowning. "What if the DHARMA Initiative really does try to stop us? They don't know any of us, and if the only member of the group who's armed is her --"

Eloise bristles. "Well," she says. "I'm certainly not arming you, if that's what --"

"Give Kurt a gun," Burt says, catching everyone's attention. "He's a good shot, he's solid in a rough situation, and he's not going to do anything stupid, because I taught him better than that."

"I'm not giving _any_ of you --" Eloise starts, only to be trampled by Charles'

"Absolutely not," and Charlotte's 

"Honestly, he's a child; he probably can't even --"

And then Richard raises his hands again, and they all fall silent. 

"With all due respect, sir," he says, "you're asking us to take a lot on faith here. I know you trust your son, but --"

"I'm not asking you take anything," Burt says, and turns to Eloise. "I'm asking _you_ , one parent to another, to give my son some way of protecting himself and his friends, and you if it comes to that. I'm asking you to help me help your son, Ellie. Because that's what I'm here for. That's what Kurt's here for. But he's not any good to you dead, and God knows I'm useless without him. What do you say?"

"How did you --" Charles starts, but it's Eloise's turn to raise a hand, silencing him. 

"Richard thinks you're from the future," she says, taking a step forward; Burt moves to meet her. There's a weird resemblance between them, something in their solidity, in the gravity they possess. "Is that true?"

"Yeah," Burt says. "Yeah, it's true. Matter of fact, you're the one who's gonna send us back here, thirty years down the line. Everything we've gone through, everything we've done? We've done it on your say-so. So I figure the least you can do is listen to me this once, considering how much you're gonna ask of me in the future. How much I've gone through to save your son."

He doesn't even look at Daniel, that's the hell of it. But Eloise does, just for a moment. 

She takes a deep breath. "You're not lying," she says. "Are you?"

"Never was much of a liar," Burt says. "Gave it up a while back. Only ever got me in trouble anyway." He takes one more step in, the two of them practically nose-to-nose now. "Thirty years from now, Eloise, you're gonna trust me. Pretty sure there's a damn good reason for that. So I'm gonna ask you again. What do you say?"

The two of them stare at each other for a long time. Then Eloise turns, walks back to Charles, and pulls the rifle from his slack grip. Gripping it by the barrel, she crosses back over to Kurt, thrusts it at him. "Do you know how to use this?" she asks.

Kurt takes the gun, careful to keep the barrel pointed down to the ground. He looks it over with narrowed eyes, studying it carefully. Pulls the clip out to count the bullets inside, draws the bolt back and peers down the barrel carefully. 

"The firing pin's still there," Eloise says; she almost sounds amused this time. "And Charles is allowed loaded weapons, you know."

"Just making sure," Kurt says, softly. He slides the bolt back into position, pops the clip back in, looks up from the gun. "And yes. I can use this."

"Eloise," Charles says, one last time, and she turns and smiles at him.

"It's fine, Charles," she says. "Besides, if things do go badly, he's only a boy. He'll hesitate on the trigger. But I won't."

Kate's expecting Burt to bristle at that, but he doesn't. Just reaches out, puts a hand on Kurt's shoulder, draws him near. It's funny -- Kurt seems so small most of the time, but when he's up close to his dad like this, Kate can see he's almost reached his father's height, that his shoulders are almost as broad. But it's only almost; it isn't all the way. He's still just a kid, and that gives Kate pause.

"I love you," Burt says, pressing his forehead against Kurt's. "I love you, and you will see me again, kiddo. Okay? I promise you that. No matter what, you will see me again." 

Kurt sniffles, nods, and then sort of falls forward into his dad's arm, one hand still clutching his rifle, the other clinging tight to his father's shirt, and Kate has to turn away then. 

It hits her again, not for the first time, what she's losing. Even if she does see Ben after this, it won't be the same. It'll never be the same.

But she can't help that now. All she can do is make sure Burt keeps his promise. 

When she looks up at Eloise, Eloise is looking at her, her face unreadable. 

"All right," Burt says, with a heavy sigh, and when Kate turns back, he and Kurt are breaking apart. "Go. And be careful, Kurt."

For a moment, Kate thinks Kurt isn't going to say anything at all. Finally, he forces out a choked -- "I love you, Dad."

"Love you too, kiddo," Burt says, again -- his voice is steadier, but his eyes hold the same tears as his son's.

Kurt nods, tries to smile, fails, and then turns away, reaching out for Brittany's hand as he goes. 

Eloise stands, looking at Burt and Kate, until Kurt and Brittany reach her. "Well," she says, then, and turns on her heel. "Here we go."

Sayid, Daniel, and Charlotte fall into step behind them, walking slowly out of the Hostiles' camp.

Kate moves back to stand beside Burt, her hand once again finding his -- this time, he squeezes back tightly. They watch together until the others are out of sight, and it's just them.

She wants to tell Burt that his son's going to be fine. She really does. But she's not so sure it's the truth.

 

*

 

"You'll see him again," Charlie tells her for the fifteenth time, as Shannon crouches at the controls for the sonic fence. Miles is ten feet away, gun drawn, eyes restlessly scanning the Barracks grounds for any sign of someone coming up behind them. 

"I mean, granted, he'll be about six feet taller, and a good deal uglier," he continues, as Shannon ushers them through the sonic fence, Vincent leading the way, nose down and tail swishing slowly from side to side. "And not nearly as easy to pick up and cuddle. But still. Ethan's going to be fine. Mostly. Apart from the father thing, and becoming a Hostile, and then getting exiled, but really there's nothing we could've done about that anyway, so --"

"I'm not worried about Ethan," Juliet says. It's mostly true. Well, it's not at all true, really, but she's passed him off to Rosie, who at least seems marginally competent. She's taken herself out of the picture, so if Horace does come looking for her, Ethan's not likely to be in the crossfire. She's done the best she could for him. Ethan's not the problem.

The problem is something else entirely.

"Miles," she says; Miles straightens up sharply, head whipping around to look at her. "Are you sure you don't want to hang back, keep an eye on Annie? Even if Horace and Radzinsky realize that Kate's group is headed for the Orchid, that doesn't mean --"

"Yeah," he says, weapon still out at his side. "Yeah, actually, it does. Trust me, you didn't see them, or talk to them, or anything them, but I did. Radzinsky's out for blood. And Horace..." He shakes his head. "I don't know what Horace is doing. I don't think Horace knows what Horace is doing. He should be at the infirmary with you, cooing over his son, and instead he's drinking himself to oblivion at Roger Linus's house and letting Radzinsky feed God knows what kind of poison into his ears. Like, trust me, okay? I've seen desperate people. Horace? He's desperate. And desperate people do stupid-ass things."

"Yeah, but. I mean, how long have we known Horace, now?" It's funny, how quickly Charlie's calmed down since he first burst into the infirmary. Juliet hasn't known him long, doesn't know if this is standard for him -- this easy trust, the way he's so quick to believe the best in people. "I mean, it's been years. I'm not expecting him to take this well, exactly, and it'll be a hard thing to calm Radzinsky down, but it's not like he's going to just muster up some kind of an army, or --"

Juliet looks at Miles, and at Shannon, and she knows. That's exactly what he's going to do.

The four of them aren't going to be much good at stopping an army. Hopefully Kate thinks to bring some Hostiles along as backup.

Shannon whistles, and Vincent comes trotting up to stand next to her, panting. "We should get moving," she says. "It's a long way to the Orchid."

She turns and heads off into the jungle, and Juliet follows after her, leaving Miles and Charlie to trail in their wake.

 

*

 

The hardest thing Desmond could ever do is to watch them pass by. 

Shannon, Charlie, even the damned dog. It's been so long since he's talked to anyone, and God only knows what's going to happen once he's done what he was meant to, once he's finally fixed things. One word, one smile, just -- something.

He stays where he is, lets them go. 

They'd only try to stop him, in the end. And he can't let that happen, not now that he's so close. 

He has to fix it.

He _will_ fix it.

 

*

 

Ben looks a little more like himself with a pair of glasses on. The jagged cut and mottled bruising on his forehead still stand out stark against his pale face -- his eyes are almost swallowed up in bags and dark circles, and exhaustion has him sagging slightly, but at least he can see again.

"I have to ask," Richard says, and lets his hand rest on Ben's shoulder again, because he needs to protect someone and Blaine is too far out of reach to be helped now. "Is there any way at all I can talk you out of coming with us?"

The long stare Ben gives him is an answer in and of itself. 

But apparently, it isn't quite enough. Not for Ben. "I heard him," he says, very softly. "Out in the jungle, just for a moment -- I heard Blaine, calling out to me. Not a hallucination; it was him. He was looking for me. Like before, when Charles put me in that room. Blaine went looking, and he found me, Richard. And I only heard him for a moment, but -- But that doesn't mean he wasn't still with me, afterwards."

"Honestly, Ben, I'm not entirely sure where you're going with this," Richard says. He knows there's a goal; there always is with Ben, but this time it's more opaque than usual. 

"That vision quest John took me on?" Ben glances in Locke's direction for a moment, anger briefly distorting his features. "I don't think that was for my benefit at all. Watching Blaine die wasn't meant to convince me of anything. But if Blaine saw -- if he truly believed that _I_ thought he was dead..." Ben's face is very grim. "You know as well as he does what I would do if I lost him."

And Richard does know, that's the hell of it. He knows exactly what Ben would do.

And he has a pretty good idea what Blaine would do to stop his father from ever going that far.

He'd do anything. Anything at all.

"You know," Ben says; it's not an accusation, just a statement of fact. "You know what that thing is going to ask of my son. I don't need you to tell me; I'm probably better off not knowing. I just need you to tell me whether or not you think we can stop him."

"I'm not sure," Richard says; he knows it's not what Ben wants to hear even before the words are out of his mouth, and even though Ben takes it as calmly as he can, it still hurts to see him droop further, just for a moment. "If we get there first, maybe. But we don't know where they are, or how far they've gone -- It might already be too late. We might have more than enough time. I honestly don't know."

"Well," Ben says, and pushes himself up to his feet. He looks at John for a long moment, then turns his attention to Hurley, Jin, Sawyer. It's funny, how they look back at him. Certainly none of them ever looked at John that way. "Then I guess we'd better get moving."

"I guess we'd better," Richard says. 

He lets his hand fall from Ben's shoulder, leading the way out of the tent.

 

*

 

This time, the noise stays behind them. The clicking, the roar, the strange bubbling sounds -- they grow distant as Blaine and Cooper keep running through the jungle, putting distance between themselves and It. It doesn't chase them. It stays put.

Blaine knows exactly what that means.

A security system -- that's what Richard always used to call It. He said It protected the Island. Blaine never asked him what the Island needed protection from.

He's pretty sure he knows, now. 

Ethan, Sun, Ana -- 

Cooper clutches at Blaine's wrist, dragging him along, and Blaine knows what will happen the next time the Smoke appears, and he knows he's going to have to do something to stop it. 

He slows down, stumbling, forcing Cooper to slow down with him. He pants for breath and lets his head droop and moves slower, slower, until finally they're stopped, and he bends over and clutches at his knees because he needs a moment or he won't be able to keep moving forward anymore.

"Blainey --" Coop says, desperate and worried and God, so kind, and Blaine keeps his eyes on the ground.

"I just need a second," he says. "Just... Just give me a second."

Cooper stands there for a moment longer, and then drops his wrist, takes a step forward. Blaine doesn't look up until he's sure Cooper's eyes are off him; when he does risk it, he sees Cooper scanning the jungle ahead of them. 

"We need one of those trees," Cooper says, half to himself. He doesn't seem to hear Blaine draw his knife, doesn't seem to realize that he's not panting for breath anymore. "Like Ana found, and then you can rest a little, and then when it's safe we can --"

Blaine raises his arm and takes a step forward -- the handle of the knife connects solidly with the back of Cooper's skull and he crumples to the ground. Blaine drops with him, rolling him onto his back and feeling for a pulse; Cooper is warm and alive under his hands. He'll have a concussion, of course; maybe worse. And leaving him out in the jungle like this, unconscious and alone --

But it's the best chance Blaine can give him.

"I'm sorry, Coop," he says, and rolls Cooper back onto his side before standing up. 

He turns to face the jungle. It's almost dark now, the trees massed together threateningly. There's no insect noise, no birds calling out or animals in the underbrush. But he can hear It, growling and chittering out there in the jungle. 

He can hear It and It can hear him.

"It's okay," he calls, heart racing, breath coming fast, palms sweating. He clutches the knife tighter in his left hand. "It's okay. I'm not running anymore. I'm not -- Just don't hurt him, okay? Just don't -- I won't try to get away. I'll do -- I'll do what You want me to. Just don't hurt Cooper."

Silence. For a moment, he almost wonders if It's gone. But then he hears rustling in the undergrowth.

He takes a deep breath, closes his eyes, and waits.

"I'm not going to kill you, you know," someone says, and Blaine's eyes fly open. 

Jack is strolling towards him, grinning widely, and Blaine almost tells him to run, to get away.

Then he realizes. Jack has nothing to run from.

The Smoke isn't coming. It's already here.


	16. Follow the Leader

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As Eloise leads Brittany's group towards the Orchid, Burt and Kate give Richard some valuable advice for the future. In the present day, Richard and Ben are struggling to reach the Shadow of the Statue before Jack and Blaine get there, but the odds are stacked against them and they're getting higher by the moment. There's a bigger conflict here, beyond the Hostiles and the DHARMA Initiative's fragile truce, beyond Locke and Ben's quiet war; and unless someone rescues him quickly, Blaine is about to find himself right in the middle of it.

The Smoke isn't coming. It's already here.

Jack's smile widens, and it takes everything Blaine has to just stand still, to not run. His heart is racing; he's panting for breath. He's sweating so hard that the knife in his left hand almost slips free, so he grips it as tight as he can, feeling the leather braiding on the handle dig into his skin. Not that a knife could really do him any good, not now --

But he holds onto it anyway.

He stands his ground.

Jack laughs. "You really are your father's son," he says. "You know that, right? He taught you so well." Another step closer; Blaine breathes, his fingers flexing around the handle of the knife. The motion attracts Jack's attention, he glances down at Blaine's hand. "Which is how I know you're going to put that away now," he adds, voice soft and almost kind. "Because that's what your father would do. Because he would know that if that knife could do anything at all? I would never have given it to Cooper in the first place."

Blaine looks at Cooper then -- can't help it, has to make sure he's still there, unconscious but breathing, alive and as safe as Blaine can make him. He's still looking at Cooper when he slowly sheathes the knife.

"Good," Jack says, and closes the remaining distance. His hand lands on Blaine's shoulder, and Blaine can't suppress his flinch but he manages to not pull away, at least.

He forces himself to look at Jack. There's stubble on his cheeks, bags under his eyes -- he looks so human. It's hard for Blaine to wrap his mind around, hard to really understand... But Jack, or whatever he is, is right -- Blaine's his father's son. He knows when doubt is a luxury he can no longer afford.

"Good," Jack says again, and chuckles, and uses his hand on Blaine's shoulder to turn him around, push him forward. "We should get moving, before Cooper wakes up. I mean, personally, I don't care either way. You'll do what I tell you, sooner or later. But it might be a little easier for you if you've got this one last victory under your belt, don't you think?"

Blaine doesn't look back. He wants to, desperately, but he doesn't.

Jack's hand stays on his shoulder, guiding him forward into the darkness.

 

*

 

Kurt keeps a tight grip on the rifle in his hands, careful to keep the barrel pointed down at the ground, his fingers away from the trigger. _Don't point at anything you're not prepared to kill_ , his dad used to tell him.

His dad is half a mile behind him and getting further with every step, and Kurt's not sure when he's going to see him again. All he has is a rifle and his father's words ringing in his ears.

_I will see you again._

Except that's not entirely up to Kurt's dad, is it? Some of it's out of their hands entirely -- some of it's down to Eloise, the DHARMA Initiative, Hostiles, and whoever else Kurt's dad was thinking of when he made sure Kurt got that gun. And the rest of it...

_Don't point at anything you're not prepared to kill._

The thing is, if Kurt wants to see his dad again, he kind of has to survive. That's why he has a rifle in his hands. Not for practice, not for intimidation, but because he needs to be able to kill someone if it really comes down to it.

He swallows hard.

Brittany wraps a hand around his arm, just above the elbow; her shoulder bumps his. She smiles at him, or at least she tries to -- the corners of her mouth quirk up, but her eyes still look scared.

And that's the other reason why Kurt has the gun. It's not just his life in his hands.

Sayid drops back to walk with them, falling in on Kurt's left side. "You don't have to do this," he says, softly. "Let me take the gun. I'm... used to this sort of thing. It will be easier for me."

It's tempting; God, is it tempting. Kurt doesn't know a lot about Sayid, really, but he does know that Sayid's a soldier. He knows what he's doing, and Kurt really doesn't, and the smart thing to do would be just to hand the gun over.

But if he did that, and someone really did come after them, Kurt would be helpless. Just sitting and watching and hoping everything went well. And maybe that's what he should be doing; _probably_ that's what he should be doing. But he just can't.

"It's fine," he says, and doesn't let go of the gun. "It's... This is what my dad wants, and if that's what he wants, then I think... Besides," he adds, looking up at Eloise, and her steps aren't faltering at all but he can tell, somehow, that she's listening to them. "That's not the deal we made. It wouldn't be fair to change things now."

"Kurt." Sayid doesn't grab him, but his voice has its own pull, slowing Kurt down despite himself. "Listen to me. This isn't target practice with your father. You might very well find yourself in a position where it's kill or be killed. And while I don't doubt your courage or your ability, I want you to think very hard about what this will change for you. Because this will change things. It always does. And I don't want you to give up anything you aren't sure you can afford to lose."

He isn't wrong, exactly, but he isn't right either. The problem is that Kurt's got a lot of things to lose, and he already knows he can't keep them all. The best he can do is choose what he's going to sacrifice.

"I'll think about it," he says, if only to prevent any further arguments. He really doesn't have the energy to debate anyone right now. "Okay? I really will. I'll think about it, I promise."

It must not sound convincing, because Sayid sighs heavily. "Don't think too long," he says. "We may not have much more time."

"We don't have time at all," Brittany says, quietly, squeezing Kurt's arm. "Time has us."

There's a pause, and then Sayid says, "The worst thing is, that actually makes sense to me."

That, at least, is something Kurt can agree with. He just doesn't feel the need to say it out loud. "Come on," he says, and picks up his pace a little bit. "We don't want to get left behind."

 

*

 

When Richard finally turns back to Kate, his face is unreadable. "Well," he says. "You wanted to talk to me, Kate?"

She glances back over her shoulder at Burt; he manages a half a smile for her, somehow. She can't imagine how -- watching his son walk away like that, into God knows what. But then, he's tough.

"Go ahead," he says. "You two have some things to hash out. I'll be all right."

Kate doesn't bother pointing out that he's in the middle of the Hostiles' camp, surrounded by armed men, which isn't exactly most people's definition of "all right." She doubts he needs reminding, anyway. "There's nothing I have to say that you can't hear," she says, instead. "Matter of fact, there's probably not much you don't already know. You might as well hear it."

Richard studies the two of them for a long moment, then sighs and shrugs his shoulders. "Well, then I guess both of you can talk to me," he says, and turns, and leads the way to his tent. "You've had a long hike," he adds, over his shoulder, as he pushes his way through the tent flaps. "Can I get you anything to drink?"

Kate's tempted to turn back to check the expression on Charles Widmore's face, decides not to. "Water's fine," she says, following him inside (Burt holds the tent flaps open for her, like a gentleman.) "I won't take up too much of your time. But I wanted to let you know -- I figured out what that note meant. About how I had to raise him."

It's not a surprise; Richard only hesitates briefly before turning to face her, a tin cup of water in each hand. "I had a feeling you were going to say something like that," he says, and holds the water out. Burt is first to take his cup, Kate following after. "So what is it about Benjamin Linus, anyway?" he asks. "What makes him so important?"

Kate looks at Burt; Burt just shrugs. "Can't say I know the answer to that," Burt says, making his way to a nearby bench and sinking down heavily. It's funny -- he's so good at this that Kate forgets that just a week ago, he was a mechanic in Ohio. Being a fugitive wasn't an easy life for her, but at least it prepared her for some of this. Burt's got nothing but instinct to go on.

Good instincts, though.

Burt takes a long pull off his water. "Honestly, I'm not sure how much of this is about Ben and how much of it is about his son," he continues, eyes steady on Richard.

"His son," Richard echoes, bemused. "He has a son."

"He has a son." Burt sets his water down, rests both hands on his knees, leans in a little. "Name's Blaine. He's a little younger than Kurt, not much. And I can't say I understand what his deal is, exactly; I got the Cliff's Notes version but it didn't make a hell of a lot of sense to me. But he's... Different. Special. He can do stuff... He can do stuff that shouldn't be possible. And that's about as specific as I can get. I'm sorry."

"You know, actually, that's... That's specific enough, I think." And he means it, too; Kate can tell by the look on his face. Whatever Ben's son can do, Richard's seen it before. Then again, Richard's probably seen a lot of things by now. "And so you think... You think that's why Jacob wants us to take Ben in? Because of his son?"

Burt just shrugs. "That's what Ben thinks. Me, personally -- I mean, hell. Ben knows a lot more about this place than I do, so I'm kind of inclined to take his word for it. But then again, we all think our kids are more important than we are. Ben's as biased as the rest of us. It could be Ben, could be Blaine. Could be the pair of them. All I know is that without Ben, Blaine's gonna die before he's a week old. And without Blaine, Ben's gone by thirty. Those two need each other, Richard. I've done what I can for 'em, but I'm probably not going to be here -- or _now_ , I guess -- much longer, and when I go..."

He doesn't finish; of course, he doesn't need to. The meaning is obvious enough.

"You want me to take care of him?" He's afraid, that's the thing. Richard, who has been on this Island for God knows how long, who has seen God knows what -- He's afraid.

Admittedly, he's got his reasons. But Kate needs someone she can trust to pick up where she's left off, and Richard's about the closest she's going to get. "He's twelve years old, Richard," she says, and takes a careful step forward. "He's just a kid. He's gonna need someone to take care of him for a little while longer."

Richard stares at her, then back to Burt. He looks distinctly trapped. "You realize," he says, dark eyes wide and almost pleading, "that I have no idea what I'm doing. I've lived a long time -- I've seen extraordinary things, and I have done --" He breaks off, shakes his head. "But I've never been anyone's parent. I don't know how to do this."

"None of us ever does," Burt says; even with the smile on his face, it still comes off as sad. "Best you can do is just make it up as you go. But if it helps at all? When you were talking to Britt, back there. You reminded me of Ben. He talks to her the same way you did."

"Well, maybe he can teach me how to do it." Richard cracks a weak smile, then turns away, getting a cup of water for himself. "It's funny; I did ask Jacob who he thought would take care of the boy, what with Eloise leaving and everything. He said I'd figure it out, but. He's never really been good at leaving things to chance."

"You know, I was starting to get that impression myself." Burt eases himself up to his feet, setting the cup of water down. "Richard. Look. I know you're scared. I get it. And it's gonna get worse before it gets better. But trust me. I've gotten to know Ben pretty damn well these past few months, and he's a good guy. One of the best I've met. So whatever you wind up doing from here, I doubt you screw it up that badly. All right?"

Richard takes his sweet time in turning around, but he finally does. "All right," he says, still a little shaky, but better than he was. "All right. Anything else I should know while you're here?"

Burt considers it for a moment, hands jammed into the pockets of his coveralls. "They were with us," he says, finally. "Ben and Blaine. When we came to the Island, they were on the plane with us. Just didn't end up traveling in time, for whatever reason. Hopefully, this Orchid thing will send us back there, and we can find 'em again. But if you see them before I do, look out for them, okay? Maybe they don't need it; maybe they're fine, but... But I'm guessing they're not. And I don't know if you're still there, or if you're going to see them, but just. If you do."

"If I'm guessing right, that's thirty years from now." Richard clutches his water with both hands; he hasn't so much as taken a sip. "What makes you think I'll remember?"

"Call it a hunch." Burt claps one big hand on Richard's shoulder. "I'll give you two a moment. It was good meeting you, Richard. Maybe I'll see you again in a few decades."

"Yeah, sure." He turns, watches Burt make his slow way out of the tent, then turns back to Kate. "He always like that?"

"You mean the whole thing where he comes at you like a freight train and rearranges your whole life in the span of about ten minutes?" Kate asks, and is rewarded by another small smile. It's not much, but then she gets the feeling Richard's not really the demonstrative type. "I've only known him for a few days, but... Yeah. Pretty much."

A short huff of laughter, not much, but enough. Richard shakes his head, looks back at her. There's something strange in his face, something... open. "What's he like?" he asks. "Ben, I mean. Burt knows who he'll be in thirty years, and I guess that's something, but... Who is he, right now?"

It's a hard question to answer; Kate has to take a deep breath, brace herself a little. "He's quiet," she says. "But tough, tougher than you'd expect. He's kind of had a hard time of it, with his dad and everything. And I'm not going to tell you it'll be easy right from the start, because it won't. It wasn't with me, either. But once he gets to know you, once he trusts you... He's smart as a whip. Reads anything and everything he can get his hands on. Loves music. And he's kind, and he's great with other kids, and he's funny, and..."

And it's not even that much; it's not half of what he is to her, but she can't keep going. She just dabs at her eyes, tries not to sniffle too loudly, and gives Richard the best smile she's capable of.

"I'm sorry," he says, softly. "This must be very hard for you, to give him up."

"I mean, the thing about kids is you have to let go eventually, right?" She rests her hand on her hips, forces her smile a little wider, a little brighter. "I guess this is just... sooner than I would've thought."

Richard obviously doesn't buy it, but he smiles back at her, touches her arm gently, just for a second. "I'll take care of him for you," he says. "I promise."

For the first time since this whole thing started, he sounds certain.

"Thank you," Kate says. She takes a deep breath, squares her shoulders, and adds, "I have to go save the future now. But. See you in thirty years?"

"I'll be looking forward to it," Richard says.

To Richard's credit, he almost sounds like he means it.

Kate gives him a little wave, then sets her cup of water down and turns to follow Burt back out into the gathering night.

 

*

 

Richard insists on bringing John along with them, hands tied in front of him, a long lead attaching him to Sawyer who pulls him on mercilessly no matter how uneven the ground.

Ben can't say he has too much of a problem with the rough treatment, really; it's not that John was any kinder to him on their trek. What bothers him is Richard's repeated insistence that John needs to see what he's done. As though there's no hope at all of reaching Blaine in time, as though the only thing they're headed for is an unhappy ending.

Richard's always been an over-preparer; that's really where Ben gets it from. It's important to have a contingency. Perhaps that's why John is there, as a contingency.

He feels a lot more like an albatross.

"Out of curiosity," he says, careful to keep his voice low enough that the others can't hear him over the soft sounds of boots in the undergrowth, packs shifting on shoulders, rough breathing and occasional murmurs. "If... If we are too late. If Blaine has already done what that thing wants him to do. What happens next?"

Richard shakes his head, looks off in the middle distance. He doesn't meet Ben's eyes, which is something slightly beyond a bad sign. "Obviously our first priority is to get Blaine back," he says. "Which hopefully will not be too difficult, if he's already served his purpose. After that, we head to the Temple to rejoin the rest of our people. Regroup and decide our next steps from there."

_If he's served his purpose._ Ben's not sure he's heard anything more ominous in his life.

"Sounds simple enough," he says. It won't be; Ben doesn't need to be a mind-reader like his son to know that. But at least it sounds simple. He sighs. "We're out of our depths here, aren't we, Richard?"

There's no reply for a few seconds, just Richard's hand settling on Ben's shoulder in awkward condolence. Finally, Richard asks him, "Do you know a blonde girl named Brittany?"

And Ben stops. He actually stops dead in his tracks, turns to Richard, and asks, " _What?_ "

"I'll take that as a yes." Richard nudges him onward, gentle pressure on his shoulder but nothing demanding. Richard never was, at least not with him. "I ask you this because the day that your father brought you to us, a girl came to our camp. Not alone -- there were seven of them, actually. Kate Austen was one. Two scientists from the DHARMA Initiative. A few others. But Brittany... Brittany stood out. For a number of reasons. I'm sure you're well aware."

"Oh yes," Ben says, softly. He was aware that this was a possibility, of course, but still. To know that Brittany was there, that Richard saw her -- "She does make an impression."

"And one of the things she mentioned that day," Richard continues, "happens to be the very place that you and I are going to right now. The Shadow of the Statue, as she put it. Do you know what that means, Ben? The Shadow of the Statue?"

Ben swallows hard. He realized a long time ago that Richard told him things he was not supposed to know, introduced him to certain mysteries of the Island that weren't meant to be shared with anyone but the Leader. But this. This is new. "No," he says, reluctantly. "No, I don't."

Richard nods slowly. "That's because I never told you," he says. "In fact, I never told anyone at all. Eloise knew, of course, but not from me. She heard it from... Well. You know who she heard it from."

"I suppose I do." Ben can feel a certain telltale shortness to his breath, a specific kind of heat flushing in his face. It's possible that Ben is misreading what Richard is saying to him; that he doesn't understand as well as he thinks he does. It's possible, but it isn't very likely. And if he's right...

"So if I didn't tell Brittany about the Shadow of the Statue," Richard continues, soft and inexorable, "then really there's only one other person who would. And he did. And he told her that she could find him there, if she needed to. And although Brittany never said as much to me, I have reason to believe that she thought you would go there too, one day. And now here we are."

It was bad enough to think that Brittany had stumbled into this by accident, that she'd put herself in such a dangerous place out of loyalty to him. The idea that it wasn't an accident at all, that this was _meant_ to happen -- "Yes," Ben says, even quieter than before, and wonders just who he'll have to kill to get some kind of justice for this. "Here we are."

Richard finally looks at him, really looks at him. He hasn't aged since the day Ben met him, and yet somehow he looks remarkably old. "But my point is, Ben," he says, gently, "we've been out of our depths for a long time now."

His hand shifts to the middle of Ben's back, rubbing in circles -- a trick Ben has often used on Blaine, to great effect. It's strange to be reminded how so many things that seem instinctive were, in fact, taught to him a long time ago. "Was Kurt with her?" he manages to ask, finally. "Was he --"

It takes Richard a moment to remember. Or, possibly, to figure out his most diplomatic response. "Yes," he says, finally. "Kurt and his father. They were both with her." He pauses, and then adds, "I don't know what's going to happen to them, Ben. But the last I knew, they were all alive, and working on a way to get to us. Don't give up hope. Not yet."

"Easier said than done." But it does help a little, really. Just knowing where they are (or were, anyway) -- knowing that someone he trusts has seen them, can vouch for their survival, even if his knowledge is limited. It does help. "Thank you, Richard."

Richard's hand migrates back to his shoulder, hesitates there, then finally slides away. "Don't thank me yet," Richard says. "Wait until it's over."

 

*

 

Charlotte stumbles for the third time, and Daniel catches her by the elbow, holding her up so she can't fall. "You all right?" he asks, studying her profile as best he can in the dim light of Eloise's torch. She doesn't look as ill as she did back at the Hostiles' camp, but it's hard to tell with the glow of the flames warming her skin.

"Fine," Charlotte says, leaning in to him, letting him put an arm around her. "Just. Hard to see where to put your feet, you know? Wish we hadn't started so late."

"Best way to make sure no one's here," Daniel reminds her. "It'll be a lot easier to do what we have to if the station's unmanned."

"Well we do have a teenager with a rifle to protect us if things go south," she says, grinning.

Daniel looks ahead at Kurt, rifle in one hand, the other clasped tight in Brittany's, and can't quite muster a smile back.

"Don't worry so much," Charlotte says, and nudges him gently with her shoulder. "Whatever wild goose chase Miles led the DHARMA folk on, I'm sure they're on the other side of the Island by now. He's good at this sort of thing. I'm sure --"

But there's a trickle of blood seeping slowly from Charlotte's left nostril, and that, in and of itself, is enough to make Daniel feel a little bit panicky. "Charlotte," he says, his voice more faint than it should be. "You've got a little --"

She reaches up to dab at it --

_haven't had one of these since I was his age --_

And Eloise stops, turns back to look at them, and says, "Well. We're here. Now what?"

 

*

 

They start trickling in after the close of evening mass -- Jesse St. James in the lead, still with that ridiculous scarf on, Rachel Berry hot on his heels. Then Mr. Abrams, of course, and that boy with the mohawk. Michael Chang, with his father on one side and Tina on the other. Noor Jaseem brings up the rear.

"Well," Jesse says, and it really is charming, how brave the boy is trying to sound. It's not working, but the effort is commendable. "We're here. Now what?"

Eloise smiles at them. They'll hate her for this, of course. They might come to understand later, once everything is said and done, but in the intermediate aftermath? They'll hate her. But that's never stopped her from doing her duty before, and it won't stop her now. "Now," she says, still smiling, "we have a plane to catch."


	17. Orchid

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brittany's group has finally reached the Orchid. The problem is, they're not alone.

The day slides slowly past; night falls, heavy and dark. Roger feels the craving in his bones -- just one drink, just something to take the edge off. He's got a hell of a job ahead of him, and he could use a little liquid courage. Just one drink. Just one.

But it's never been just one with him; he knows that much, at least, about himself. And he can't let himself get sloppy now.

So he waits, dry-throated. Eats a silent dinner with his son, Ben watching him with wary blue eyes, like he knows. 

_We'll take care of him_ , Richard said. _I promise you. Your son's going to be fine. And we'll make sure you get to see him as often as possible._

And Roger didn't make a joke about hostages, just nodded and said _Sure, sure._

But then, that was before he knew who Kate and the others were, before he realized how long the Island had been grooming his son for this. How careful it had been to plant the seeds of this separation. 

"May I be excused, please?" Ben asks, voice soft and scared. He's barely touched his food.

But he'll feel better, in the end. When they make it to the Hostiles' camp, when he sees Kate. He'll be fine.

Ben's gonna be okay. 

And if Roger winds up more fucked up than ever before -- well, that's his business.

"Sure," Roger says, and doesn't apologize, and doesn't say anything he can't be sure he means. "Go ahead."

Ben stares at him a little longer, wide blue eyes so full of fear (and Roger still wonders, sometimes, just when his son became so damn scared of him), then, finally, pushes his chair back, grabs his plate, and heads off toward the kitchen.

 

*

 

They aren't at the Swan.

They're not at the Swan, just like they weren't at the Flame. Just like they haven't been anywhere Miles said that they were going to be, and the worst thing is, Horace doesn't even seem to realize what this means.

"This is pointless," he snaps, heading back to the Jeep at a clip, leaving Stuart to scramble after him. "This... Ridiculous wild-goose chase, my son is still in the infirmary, and I should have taken him home tonight, and instead I --" He turns around sharply, and Stuart doesn't startle easy, but the look on Horace's face makes him stumble back a few steps. "No," he says, leaning in. "Not me. You."

But hell if Stuart Radzinsky's going to back down. Not for Horace, not for anyone. "What about me, Horace?" he asks, standing his ground, matching Horace snarl for snarl.

"Can't admit it, can you?" Horace asks, eyes narrowing. "That you were wrong about this station, that you were wrong to think you could fix things, that you were wrong about everything, Stuart, and it's all falling apart now because you were _wrong_. And because you can't admit it, that you were wrong, that your mistakes killed my wife --"

"I did not --"

"And now --" Horace spins away abruptly, long hair flying around his shoulders. "Now you've dragged me out here, away from my son, who is the only thing I have left -- For nothing, for no reason, because of this bullshit story of yours about Kate being in league with the Hostiles, because you still can't admit --"

He breaks off suddenly, staring at the Jeep. 

Stuart doesn't waste time wondering why; he's got his opportunity to talk, and he's going to take it. "I'm _not_ wrong, and it's not bullshit, and if you can't --"

But Horace isn't listening anymore; he's racing to the Jeep, flinging the door open.

He's leaving. The bastard's leaving.

"Hey!" Stuart calls out, hurrying after him. "Dammit, Horace, don't you dare --"

But then Horace turns around, one hand up, and Stuart realizes there's a walkie in his other hand, and falls silent, his heart racing for an entirely different reason.

"Phil?" Horace asks. "What is it, what's wrong?"

And Stuart can just barely hear Phil's answer.

"I found them. Like you asked. Faraday and Lewis. They're at the Orchid. And I don't think they're alone."

 

*

 

The Orchid Station appears to have been shut down for the night. Even the flowers have closed themselves against the dark, their petals clasped tight together, only the leaves left to flutter idly in the soft, warm wind. Sayid circles the perimeter carefully, looking for signs of human presence -- a guard or a security camera or a motion sensor. He sees nothing. 

Of course, this is a greenhouse -- the vines and branches provide easy cover. Just because Sayid sees nothing doesn't mean there's nothing there. 

Then again, does it matter? They'll have to go in sooner or later. And the longer they sit, the more time they waste, the closer danger comes.

He rejoins the others.

"Once you've gotten past whatever they've got blocking the actual chamber, you'll still need to turn the wheel itself," Eloise says, studying the group still huddled around the light of her torch. "From what I've been told, this is something that requires considerable physical strength. You'll want at least two people to do the work, but you could easily have three or even four of you on it, and it would make the job much easier." Her eyes settle briefly on Brittany, and then on Kurt.

Then Brittany and Kurt glance at each other, and Sayid feels a certain cold dread settle in the pit of his stomach. He hasn't spent much time around either of them, but there's something in the set of Kurt's jaw, in the careful blankness of Brittany's expression, that is absolutely unmistakeable.

"The guy that did this before," Kurt says, his head lifting just a little bit, his shoulders falling back. He's projecting confidence, which almost certainly means he doesn't feel it. Sayid suspects that will only serve to make him more stubborn. "The one who turned the wheel, sent everyone back in time in the first place. He left the Island. If... If we do this. Will that happen to us, too? Will we leave?"

Eloise stares at him for a long moment; she's thinking of lying, probably, and Sayid almost wishes she would. He already knows where this is leading. "That's right," she says, finally. "Turn the wheel, and you're banished. No one's ever come back."

Kurt reaches out blindly and finds Brittany's hand grasping for his. A united front. "Then two people is going to have to be enough," he says, his voice only barely trembling. "We're not going."

"Kurt," Daniel says, eyes pleading. When Kurt stays stone-faced, he turns to Brittany. "Britt. Come on, now. You've both been very brave and very strong, and I doubt most kids your age could go through what you've gone through and be okay, but... Don't you think you've come far enough? Maybe it's time to let someone else do some of the heavy lifting for a change."

"I mean, I don't know about Kurt," Brittany says, "but I'm great at lifting things. I spent two years at the bottom of the pyramid. I can lift all kinds of people. Once I spent a whole day just carrying Coach Sue on my back, and she weighs a lot more than she says she does."

Charlotte stares at Brittany for a moment, then shakes her head and sighs. "Daniel's right," she says, a note of condescension in her voice that makes Sayid wince. "You're just kids. Is this really what your father would want for you, Kurt? For you to stay here, as dangerous as this is? Don't you think he'd feel better knowing that you're safe at home?"

It's the worst possible thing she could've said. 

Kurt blinks for a few seconds. Something in his face shifts, hardens. Moments ago, he was a stubborn child; now he looks almost adult, and terrifyingly determined. "My _father_ is still on this Island. And Blaine, and Mr. Anderson, and -- and Hurley, and Sun --" His wide eyes lock in on Sayid's, and Sayid realizes with a certain despair that even if he could talk Kurt out of staying behind, he wouldn't want to. Not when it would mean forcing him to leave so much behind. "I'm not leaving them. I won't."

"And I'm not leaving Kurt," Brittany adds, still clinging tight to Kurt's hand. "He came here to save me, to make me better. I'm not going anywhere without him. We're in this together."

"Britt --" Daniel reaches out, one hand gently stroking her blonde hair. "I don't want to leave you either. It's my fault you're here; I can't just --"

"But you have to," Brittany says, and somehow manages to smile, sweet and easy. "Come on, you knew your mom wasn't going to send you here if she didn't think she'd get you back again, did you?" She looks over at Eloise, watching them all with a carefully blank face, then turns back to Daniel. "She's waiting for you. You should go."

For a long moment, Daniel hesitates. He looks at Brittany, at Eloise, at Kurt. Then, finally, he turns to Sayid.

He's asking for a promise; Sayid knows he can't honestly give it. Under the circumstances, however, he isn't above lying. He takes a deep breath and then nods. "I'll keep them safe," he says. 

Charlotte sighs, shaking her head. "Be easier on him if you'd give him that gun," she says, grinning at Kurt; he clutches his rifle stubbornly and says nothing. "All right. Well. It's been good meeting you. Try to come home, okay?" 

Then she reaches out, unexpected, and wraps an arm around Kurt's shoulders. It takes him a moment to hug her back.

Daniel kisses Brittany on the forehead, then rests a hand on Kurt's arm as Charlotte moves to hug Brittany. "Guess I don't need to tell you to take good care of her," he says, smiling sadly. "Just... Take care of yourself too, okay?"

Kurt nods, solemnly, eyes glassy with tears; Sayid steps closer to him as Daniel and Charlotte finally back away.

"Well," Charlotte says, and looks up at Daniel, her fingers reaching out to tangle with his. "I guess this is --"

"One more thing," Brittany says, and stretches her hand out. "I need your journal."

Daniel blinks at her for a long moment, visibly torn. He looks at Eloise again, then back at Brittany. 

"Please?" she asks.

And still the silence stretches, until Daniel finally sighs and says, "Sure thing, Britt." He shrugs his pack off his shoulders, drops it on the ground, rummages through it until he finally pulls out a leather-bound book. He looks at it for a few more seconds before slowly, reluctantly, placing it in Brittany's hand.

She doesn't smile at the book, or at Daniel, just stares at it as Daniel picks himself up again, slinging his pack back on his shoulders.

"Make sure they come home," he says, eyes steady on Sayid's, and Sayid nods. 

"Whatever it takes," he says.

Then, hand-in-hand once more, Daniel and Charlotte turn and head off into the darkness.

Brittany continues to stare silently down at the journal in her hands; Kurt shifts closer to her, wraps an arm around her waist. 

"I'm not really a genius," Brittany says, softly. "It takes me a long time to figure things out sometimes. Longer than most people." She straightens her shoulders, holds the book out to Eloise. "You're gonna have to give this to me when I'm still pretty young. I'd tell you when exactly, but I don't remember. But you'll know."

Eloise doesn't take the book right away, just looks at it. "And what if I don't?" she asks, glancing up at Brittany. "What if I say to hell with fate and never give it to you at all? What happens then?"

"You won't." Brittany says it matter-of-factly enough, but she has to know. More than Sayid or anyone else ever could, she knows exactly where this moment will lead her. "Even if you want to, you won't do it. Because this way, you know what's going to happen next. And there's nothing you hate more than not knowing."

Eloise's hand shakes a little as she takes the journal from Brittany's hands. But Brittany just stands there, resolute. Sayid has seen many different kinds of courage, but never anything quite like this. He's more than impressed; he is genuinely awed. 

"For what it's worth," Eloise says. "I'm sorry. For what this is going to do you."

"Yeah," Brittany says, the word little more than a voiced exhalation. For just a moment, her shoulders sag under the weight of everything she's been made to carry. "Yeah, me too. We should go before the radiation cooks your baby."

Then she's leading them out into the darkness, Kurt faithfully at her shoulder, leaving Eloise and Sayid to follow.

 

*

 

It strikes him, as it usually does, at the least appropriate moment. 

He has Number 15 laid out in the dissection tray, freshly shaved; the bonesaw is in his hand and he is about to begin the delicate process of removing the top of the skull when he wonders -- Does Miles have any pets? He's three now, perhaps a little too young, but then again maybe not. Michael was that age when their parents brought home Waldorph. He wasn't able to contribute much to the puppy's care and feeding, not at first, but it was still a good experience for him. Perhaps Miles should have something, a dog or a cat, or --

But of course, Pierre can't point that out, now can he? Miles is gone, safely in California with Lara, and Pierre hasn't contacted either of them in over a year. Because it was the only way to keep them gone. Because it was the only way to keep them safe. He had to cut them out completely.

Sometimes, he wonders if it was really worth it. If the work he's doing here was worth giving up his family for. It isn't often; as small as the timeshifts are, they're real -- he's manipulating spacetime in ways he never would have believed possible a decade ago, and the progress they're making is practically exponential. If there is a limit to what they can achieve here... well. He hasn't found it yet. And that is enough, most days. 

Today, though, he wonders.

But. He has a limited window of time within which to perform his private research -- as their successes pile up, one on top of another, so too does the Initiative's interest in the station -- and no time at all to waste on being maudlin. He switches the saw on, the buzz of it almost soothing with long familiarity, and guides it, very carefully, to the crown of Number 15's head. 

Then he hears the grinding of the station's elevator, and abruptly switches the saw off.

It's not uncommon for his assistants to arrive early, to work late. What they're doing is so extraordinary that it's hard for any of them to tear themselves away. Even scientists from the other stations are prone to showing up periodically, just to marvel. But at this hour of the night?

Something is wrong. Something is very, very wrong.

He sets the saw carefully back down next to the autopsy tray and makes his way over to the sink. There's a sawed-off shotgun tucked up next to the pipes, in case the Hostiles suddenly decide to stop tolerating the presence of a station in disputed territory. Pierre's not the best shot there is, but they're in close enough quarters that it shouldn't matter much. 

By the time he's gotten the gun out and in his hands, the elevator has screeched to a halt. Too late to turn the lights off, try to fool the intruders into thinking he's not here, but then, if they are Hostiles, they almost certainly wouldn't fall for such a basic ruse anyway. The best he can do is to stand his ground and use whatever force necessary to protect himself.

Accordingly, he braces his legs the best he can, raises the shotgun to his shoulder, and holds it steady.

"-- is somewhat of a problem," one of the invaders says, as the doors slide open, footsteps moving down the hallway, "and I grant you that, Charlotte, but I'd like to think I have sufficient grasp of the electromagnetic properties in play to be able to come up with some sort of method of -- Oh." 

He's a bearded man, long hair, wide tie -- the woman with him has red, curly hair. Vaguely familiar. Neither of them is dressed as Hostiles, and Pierre wonders --

But he keeps his weapon at the ready, just in case.

"Dr. Chang," the bearded man says, hands in the air. He doesn't take any more steps forward. "I'm -- I'm sorry, if we alarmed you. Charlotte and I, we weren't aware that anyone was here at the Orchid; we just arrived back on the Island, actually. There's been some anomalies lately, mostly at the Swan but I did want to do a quick check, just with the nature of the experiments you've been doing here, you understand, make sure that everything was --"

"I'm sorry," Pierre says, as firmly as possible. "Who are you again?"

"Oh!" The man laughs a little, lowers one hand slightly, then raises it again when Pierre shifts the gun in his grip. "Sorry. I'm... Uh. I'm Daniel. Daniel Faraday. Dr. Daniel Faraday. I work for the DHARMA Initiative. In... uh, in Ann Arbor, obviously. Not here. But you and I actually have similar fields of study -- the possibilities of negatively charged exotic matter to create a sort of Casimir effect, which in theory would --" Faraday breaks off then, laughs again. "Although you... You have gone way beyond theory here, of course. I've studied all of your reports extensively; the work you're doing here is --"

"Of course. Dr. Faraday." Pierre has heard of him, once or twice. Seen his name on the bottom of a few reports. Somewhat belatedly, he lowers the shotgun to his side. "It's a pleasure to --" Then the first part of Faraday's rambling monologue catches up to him, and he blinks. "I'm sorry, did you mention anomalies at the Swan?"

Faraday waves a dismissive hand, moving forward into the room now, peering about curiously. "Small ones, really. Probably an issue with the timing of the vents -- as I'm sure you're well aware, that does remain something of a work in progress -- but your colleague, Radzinsky... Well, he doesn't like being questioned." Faraday glances up at him, flashes a quick smile. Behind him, the redhead rolls her eyes. "We thought it might be best if someone came out to talk to him directly, impress upon him the seriousness of the situation."

"And they sent _you_?" Pierre's well familiar with Stuart's stubbornness by now; they all are. It seems improbable that this Faraday, as well-versed in the sciences as he might be, could possibly be the one to make Radzinsky back down.

"Actually, they sent me," the redhead says, coolly. "Charlotte Lewis, cultural anthropologist. Although lately DHARMA's been using me more for HR purposes than anything else. Suppose it's not quite a waste of my training, even if I am slightly better with dead people than live ones." She offers Pierre a faint smile, then abruptly turns her attention back to her companion. "Ah, Dan, don't know if I'd --"

"Sorry, sorry!" Faraday laughs yet again, like it's a nervous compulsion of his; Pierre notes with some alarm that he's leaning over the autopsy tray, peering down at Number 15. "Sorry, I just -- Is this one of the subjects? From the time shifts? And, ah --" He carefully lifts the rabbit's shaved head, ears flopping as he manipulates it. "Doesn't appear to be particularly advanced in age..." He lays Number 15 back in the tray, turns to Pierre, and says, "Let me guess. Sudden lack of balance and coordination, almost as though the subject was drunk, followed immediately by pronounced abnormal behavior. Then the seizures began, possible bleeding from the nostrils... Cerebral hemorrhage and death." 

"How did you --" Pierre is drawn forward despite himself; he's been so careful to keep those things out of the reports, not because he genuinely thinks the DHARMA Initiative would shut him down over a few dead rabbits, But. Well. Given the Incident at the Swan, the recurring problems they've had ever since, he's not quite willing to place himself under similar scrutiny.

"As I've said, you and I have similar fields of study." Daniel turns back to the rabbit on the table, hands fluttering around it but not quite touching. "Although obviously you've got an advantage -- the electromagnetic fields on the Island are... Well, I guess I don't have to tell you. Sorry, it's just... I'm not used to talking to people who are on my level, you know?"

"Actually, I do know." Horace might be Pierre's intellectual equal, but their fields are not the same; Radzinsky had some moments of brilliance at the start, but those were quickly overshadowed by his completely unscientific stubbornness. Pierre hasn't spoken to anyone with the slightest hope of understanding his research since the Incident, and that is what draws him in at last. He takes the last few steps, places himself next to Faraday's side, and the two of them look down at Number 15 together. "Obviously, my initial concern was that the radiation involved in the shifts was causing these problems, but then I realized that the amount of exposure to the chamber itself doesn't seem to matter. I have subjects who've been with us since the beginning that have remained completely unaffected; Number 15 only went in twice. It's not something I've sufficiently controlled for yet to know for certain, but if I had to hazard a guess, I'd say that the problem is the length of the shifts themselves. The more time they lose --"

"The worse it gets." Daniel nods slowly. "I have a theory, actually -- I think the problem might not be so much with the chamber as it is with the subjects. Every animal, from rats to rabbits to polar bears to humans -- we all have a certain sense of time, right? A biological clock. Tells us when to wake up, when to go to sleep, when to be more active, less active. And what we're doing here is we're --"

Then there's a loud noise and a sudden flare of light and pain, and Pierre Chang's world goes suddenly, absolutely dark.

 

*

 

Dr. Chang slumps to the ground next to Daniel; Charlotte watches him fall, bonesaw still in her hand. Good job that was still there. 

Daniel looks up at her, blinking. 

"Well," Charlotte says, because honestly, what was she supposed to do? Let them babble on about biological clocks, all while the real clock is running down? Miles was incredibly clear -- every DHARMA station is covered with cameras and motion detectors and such. Sooner or later, someone was going to come for them. And Charlotte's never been much of one for waiting. "So what were you saying about getting past the chamber, again?"

Daniel stares at her a while longer, then finally shakes his head and gets moving. "Right," he says, and slides the dead bunny off the dissection tray. "Okay, so even though the chamber doesn't use that much of the Island's natural energy, it's still orders of magnitude beyond -- Could you grab that trash can for me please? Thank you. -- and therefore highly volatile, which is why they no doubt have strict protocols about placing metallic objects in the chamber itself, because of the risk of --"

He places the tray and the garbage can in the chamber, then turns back to face her.

"Tin foil in a microwave," he says. "Only on a much, much bigger scale."

Charlotte grins back at him, then turns and reaches for a fistful of scalpels. Her hand never quite connects, though -- there's a fresh wave of dizziness, stronger than the ones that came before it, and she has to drop her hand down to the desk, lean heavily on it for support. The inside of her nose feels warm, wet, a trickle of blood seeping out onto the skin above her lip ( _philtrum_ , she thinks, a bit nonsensically). There's a dull throbbing in the back of her skull, a tightness at the temples. 

Dan's hand comes to rest gently on her shoulder, a stable point in the middle of the world's sickening shift around her, but it doesn't help much. Soon it won't help at all.

"Charlotte --" Daniel says, and the worry in his voice sparks something in her, enough anger and fire to keep her going a little longer. 

Hopefully it'll be long enough to save her life.

She straightens up as best she can. 

"Eloise said --" and her voice comes out a bit weaker than she'd like, there, but she takes a breath and rallies and tries again. "Eloise said that turning the wheel effectively banishes us from the Island. That we'll leave, and we won't be able to come back. If this -- Dan, if what's happening to me is because of this Island, then I need to get out of here. This is the fastest way."

"Maybe," Daniel says, rubbing her back a little bit. "Maybe, maybe, but Charlotte --"

She gets her feet underneath her. She forces her eyes open, and she turns around. Time was, Daniel would've backed off a step, but now he stays where he was, leaning in, dark eyes intent on her face. If she dies from this -- Well. At least she and Daniel made a good run of it. "We have to do this, Dan," she says, and his hand cups her cheek, thumb stroking along the cheekbone. "If we don't -- If we don't, those kids are stuck here, _now_ , and I'm not doing that to them. They're trusting us to fix this. We have to. And don't even think I'm letting you do this alone, because that isn't going to happen. I've stayed with you this long. I'm not leaving you now."

For a moment, she genuinely wonders if Daniel's going to burst into tears -- the fear and the sorrow and the love on his face are so much that she thinks she might cry with him, which is even worse. But then he manages that little smile, the soft-eyed, besotted one that's always been hers, brushes the blood away from below her nose, then leans in and kisses her sweetly. 

The world stops spinning for a moment, and the pain recedes. 

"You know," she says, when Daniel finally pulls back, smiling at him more easily now. "I think this table's made of metal. Do you reckon it'll fit it in the chamber?"

Dan laughs a little, shakes his head. "I love you," he says, which isn't really an answer, but it's always good to hear anyway. "And I --" He looks at the chamber, then at the table, then at her. "I guess there's only one way to find out, isn't there?"

They finally break apart, each going to one side of the table. "All right then," Charlotte says, and gets a good grip on her end. "On three."

 

*

 

They haven't gotten far when Kurt hears it. The distant rumble of an engine desperately in need of an oil change, rattling suspension, tires scraping along a dirt road. 

DHARMA Jeeps.

His grip tightens on the gun in his right hand, on Brittany's fingers clutched in his left. His heart hammers in his chest, and only years of intense vocal training allow him to summon up enough air to tell the others, "They're coming."

 

*

 

He can't sleep. 

Something's wrong; he's not sure what it is exactly. But there's something -- he's felt it ever since that moment in the music room, when Mr. Pace looked up at him, and smiled, and his eyes were so sad. And Ben wanted to ask, but then his father came in after him, and even though he didn't look angry, that same familiar fear choked Ben's words in his throat. It's never a good idea to talk when his dad is around. It always comes out wrong, makes him angry even when he wasn't before. Better to stay silent.

So Ben kept his mouth shut, and he left when his dad told him to, and he didn't listen to what his father said to Mr. Pace, no matter how much he wanted to know what was going on.

No matter how much he wanted to help.

But now he can't stop thinking about it, can't sleep. There's something going on. He can't put a name to it, but he can feel it. Something big, and terrifying, and very very real.

Then he hears footsteps coming down the hall towards his bedroom, heavy, making the floorboards creak.

The door opens.

Someone turns the light on; it floods the room, almost blinding, and Ben squints into the brightness, his fingers tight in the blankets covering him, terrified.

There's a thump as something lands on the bed -- a shirt, trousers, clean socks.

His father's voice tells him to get dressed.

The door snaps shut again.


	18. The Constant

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The thing about being chosen is that it takes away as much as it gives. Kurt Hummel, Brittany S. Pierce, and Blaine Anderson were chosen a long time ago, and it's about to cost them dearly.

2008

 

Some days, Burt Hummel seriously wonders about people. How they can do the things they do, why they do the things they do, take the chances they take. 

Drive for a year on a donut. A _donut_. Damn things aren't meant to last more than fifty miles, and here he's looking at one that's been all over hell's half acre, on sticky summer asphalt and in the worst of winter.

For a year.

Some people. Honestly, he doesn't know. 

He takes a breath, takes two steps back from the lift, and turns away from the Fiesta just to collect himself. There's a bedraggled-looking kid approaching the entrance to the garage, a taller man by his side. The sun's shining brilliantly outside, backlighting the pair too much for Burt to figure out what they look like. All he can tell is that the kid is soaking wet. Like he jumped in a pool or something. The guy with him looks dry as a bone, but the kid --

And then the boy lifts his chin up a little bit and Burt's heart drops down to his toenails, because that's not just some kid, that's his _son_. His Kurt, who left the house so perfectly pressed in his button-down shirt, the t-shirt over the top, the brooch, the coat, the pants, the look that takes him hours to get just so some mornings. His hair sprayed into place, everything planned.

And now it's all ruined.

"Kurt?" He hurries over, wiping his hands on the rag in his back pocket, because even if Kurt's wet, he doesn't want to get grease on him. "Kurt, what --"

He's still about ten feet away when the smell of urine hits him, overpowering and sour and acrid enough to make his eyes burn. He stops short, trying not to choke on it, struggling not to gag. He can't even begin to figure out how --

"I'm gonna go clean up," Kurt mutters. He hurries away towards the back of the shop, to the shower and his clean coveralls, but he's not fast enough to stop Burt from noticing how crumpled his face is, how red his eyes are.

Too late, he comes to his senses enough to reach out, even though Kurt's long since passed him. "Kurt --" 

But Kurt doesn't turn around and Burt's not man enough to chase him. 

Anyway, it'd be cruel, wouldn't it? Making him stay like that any longer. Once he's cleaned up, it'll be different. They can talk about what happened and who did this and --

They can, maybe, but they won't. Kurt won't want to and Burt won't know how to ask and they'll just have to deal with it, one more hurt in a long string of them, and Burt just wants it to stop but he isn't sure how. When Kurt won't even tell him what the issue is (even when they both know) how is he supposed to --

"I thought it was water balloons." 

Burt jolts, turns, sees the man who helped Kurt into the garage standing next to him. He's blond, a little scruffy. Seems familiar, but Burt can't place exactly where from. There's wet patches on his white shirt where Kurt must've leaned on him; the smell of urine rises up even over the shop smell of oil and rubber and smoke. 

"Then I got a whiff of it," the man continues. "It was awful. I didn't know what to do. I told Kurt I'd walk him home -- I mean, you never know what could happen, kids like that. Didn't want him to be alone if they decided to come back for seconds, so. He said the shop was closer. So I brought him here instead. Hope that's all right."

Kids are throwing pee-filled water balloons at Burt Hummel's son -- his beautiful, smart, slightly confounding but basically good-hearted son -- and the two of them can't even manage to talk honestly about it because of all the shit that Kurt won't say and Burt doesn't know how to ask, and absolutely nothing at all is _all right_. "Yeah," Burt says, and reaches out to clap the guy on the shoulder, and forces himself to leave his hand there even when he feels damp fabric under his fingers. "Yeah, that's -- Thank you. For... For not turning your back. Some people would."

The stranger doesn't argue the point, reaches up and pats at Burt's arm in his turn. "It's hard to be different sometimes," he says. "But Kurt's gonna be okay. He's tough."

"Yeah," Burt says, and can't stop himself turning away again, gazing after his son. Kurt's probably scrubbing his skin raw and red now. He's probably letting himself cry, too. Hard to figure out which is worse. "Wish he didn't have to be, sometimes."

"It'll get better," the stranger says, pulling away from Burt's grasp. "It always does. Anyway, I should --"

Burt has no idea what kind of payment is appropriate for someone who helped his son at his lowest moment, so he reaches for the first thing he has to offer. "You, ah, you want a clean shirt or something? We sponsored a softball team a while back -- I've got a couple t-shirts left in the office. It's not much, but --"

"It's fine," the man says, stepping back further. "I'm not too far from here, actually. I'll be okay. Go be with your son. Don't worry about me."

"Right." Granted, what the hell Burt's supposed to do for his son when Kurt's too stubborn to admit he's hurting... But there's stuff Kurt likes that doesn't involve talking, necessarily. They could watch a musical, _Sound of Music_ or something. Cheesecake, there's always cheesecake. Lock up early, stop by that bakery Kurt likes so much on the way home, spend a quiet night on the couch with just them and Julie Andrews. Sometimes, with Kurt, that's all it takes.

The man's halfway to the door before Burt even realizes he's going, silhouetted by the late afternoon sun as he heads out of the shop. "Hey," Burt calls, before the man can disappear entirely. 

The man turns, obligingly, to look at Burt.

"Thanks," he says again. "For not turning your back. Stuff like that... It matters, you know?"

"Yeah," the man says, and stuffs his hands in his pocket. "Yeah, I know."

Then he turns and heads out into the sunlight.

Burt glances back at the car up on the lift, at the donut where a tire should be, the bent rim and damaged axle. Hell, it's been there a year. One more night won't hurt it. And if Kurt's still tetchy in the morning, he can come in and have a look at it. Vent a little anger on the lug nuts. It might help. 

But that's for tomorrow, not today.

Burt wipes his hands off, tosses his rag into the laundry, and goes to check on his son.

 

2011

 

He's not entirely sure when he starts to go numb. He walks through the darkness, Jack right next to him, the knife increasingly heavy at his hip, and the fear and the guilt and the grief just start to go away. Or maybe they don't go anywhere; maybe they're just too big to be felt anymore. Maybe it's all just finally too much for him. It's hard to say for certain. All he knows is that somewhere in the jungle, somewhere in the dark, he stops thinking about anything except how much he wants to sleep. Just for five minutes, to be in the dark and quiet, empty and weightless. He just wants to sleep.

Instead he walks, on and on and on into the darkness, waiting for the end to come. Waiting for it to be over.

"You know what the difference between you and Jack Shephard is?" Jack asks, after a long silence. 

In the distance, Blaine can hear waves; they must be getting close to the shore. There's no way he could get far enough fast enough for the undertow to suck him down, of course, but it's a nice thing to think of, going underneath the water and safely out of reach.

But he is his father's son, and he will not go down that easily. 

"He's dead and I'm not?" he asks, as sharp as he can manage.

Jack just laughs at that, pats him on the shoulder, and Blaine barely suppresses the instinct to recoil at his touch. "That's true, actually," he says, grinning. "Not what I was thinking of, exactly, but it's true. And related, in a way. Because the last thing Jack Shepherd thought of, before he died? Was his father, telling him that he didn't have what it took." His face stays smiling, but he almost sounds angry, the way he says each word so clearly. "Whatever that's supposed to mean. 'You just don't have what it takes, Jack.' Doesn't sound like something your father would say to you, now does it, Blaine?"

"No," Blaine says, quietly, and tries as hard as he can not to think of his father, of the sleeves rolled up just so, of the collapsible baton tucked neatly into the pocket of his pleat-front khakis, quiet and intense and loving in the most dangerous of ways. It wouldn't help anything if he were here, anyway; probably only make things worse. His father wouldn't be as easy to save as Cooper was. "No, it doesn't."

"That's the thing with kids." Jack turns his face back to the path up ahead of them, walking onwards into the gloom, his steps confident and sure. "You tell them something once or twice -- maybe they'll forget it, maybe they won't, but it won't affect them that much. But if they hear something over and over again -- every time they slip up, every mistake they make and kids make a lot of mistakes... Well. And who knows, maybe Jack did have what it takes. Probably he did. But that doesn't matter now."

"Because you _killed_ him." And that, it turns out, is something Blaine can still feel. Anger, hot underneath his skin and prickling at his eyes until they blur with tears. Choking his voice and twisting his stomach. "Because you --"

"I did." Jack stops in the path then, tilts his head back and looks up at the shifting canopy of leaves above them. He smiles slightly, and in that moment he doesn't look human at all. "I looked inside him -- I saw how weak he was, how full of doubt, how jealous and obsessive and broken. And, well, I just didn't have a use for that." Then he turns to look at Blaine, still smiling, and it's harder for Blaine not to cringe at that smile. "But you, Blaine?" He cups Blaine's stubbled cheek in his hand, holding him in place; he stares right into Blaine's eyes, and Blaine can't even manage to blink, he's so frozen with fear. "All you've ever been is _special_. From the very first moment your father held you, you were the most important person in his world. You were his salvation. And so that's what you're going to do. You're going to save your father. In face, you're going to save all of them. Kurt, Brittany, Mr. Hummel -- Even Cooper."

It's almost certainly a lie. Blaine knows what Jack is, underneath the dead man's skin he's wearing; he knows what he's capable of. But he wants to believe so badly that, for a moment, he almost does.

"Come on," Jack says, pulling back and letting go of Blaine's face, grabbing him by the elbow instead. "There's something you need to see."

 

1981

 

"They're coming."

There's a long, heavy silence, in which Sayid hears absolutely nothing save the breathing of the people around him and the sounds of leaves rustling in the night -- he's about to ask what Kurt means when Eloise sucks in a short, sharp breath and drops the torch to her feet, smothering it quickly under dirt and damp leaves. In the sudden shock of the darkness, Sayid can finally hear the sound of engines and tires -- distant, but getting closer with every second. 

DHARMA. 

"This way." Eloise tugs on his arm, pulling him off to the side. He has no idea where he's going, his eyes taking too long to adjust to the darkness, but he trusts her hands on him, lets her guide him into thicker undergrowth. There's a rustling behind them, presumably the children. "Quickly, quickly..."

She pushes him down, then someone is brushing against him -- he recognizes Brittany by the long hair and the sound of her breathing, wraps an arm around her shoulders to keep her close and comforted. 

"Don't shoot if you don't have to," Eloise says softly -- Sayid can barely make her out, a few feet away, huddled next to Kurt. "If they see the muzzle flare, and they will, they'll see you, too. You'd be making yourself a target. Not to mention the rest of us."

"But if they get to the Orchid." Kurt's voice is quiet, insistent. "If they get there before Daniel and Charlotte turn the wheel, if they stop them --"

The DHARMA convoy is close now -- Sayid can see the glow from their headlights illuminating the jungle. It catches in the strands of Eloise's blonde hair as she turns away from Kurt again, staring out between the trees. 

"They won't," she says, and Sayid feels again the sudden, cold stabbing of dread, right between his ribs. 

Then she's moving, rifle in hand, stalking back towards the road, towards the oncoming DHARMA Jeeps.

At least Sayid is expecting it when Kurt goes to follow her, manages to stop him with a hand grasping his elbow, drawing him back. "Let her go," he says, and shakes his head sharply when Kurt tries to protest. "Kurt. Listen to me. Let her go, and we can approach from the other side. That way, if she needs a distraction, she'll have one."

Kurt's brave and he's stubborn, but he's also clever. After a moment, he nods. 

"When we hear them stop," he says. "We come up from behind. All right?"

"All right," Kurt says, and sinks down to the ground next to Brittany. 

"Kurt," Brittany says, very quietly, it's a plea, although Sayid couldn't say for certain what she's begging for.

"I know," Kurt replies. "Me too. But it's gonna be okay."

Brittany doesn't look convinced, but she doesn't argue the point. She just leans against Kurt, and sniffles softly, and waits with him. 

Sayid moves ahead of them, blocking them from the headlights' glare, and waits too.

 

1999

 

Brittany hasn't fought the decision to move to Ohio, not exactly. There's been no tantrums, no sulking, no attempts at running away, and very few tears. She's just gone colorless, sitting limply in corners for hours, only moving when she's called for meals or baths. 

Any other child, and Eloise would be deeply unimpressed, but this isn't any other child. It's Brittany. And that's what breaks her heart.

"You'll see her again," Jacob reminds her. Sometimes, Eloise wonders how she got to be the only Leader lucky enough to be so frequently graced with his presence. Most days she wishes he'd bother someone else for a change. "Besides, your nest won't be empty that long. You've got other guests coming soon."

"Yes, and then you get to give Richard the speech about how he'll see Ben again," Eloise snaps back, and has the rare luxury of seeing Jacob momentarily embarrassed. "I wonder if he'll take it as well as I did. Somehow, I rather think not."

It's almost too far, but not quite -- Jacob's eyebrows raise, briefly, and then settle. "You have a choice, Eloise," he says.

"Do I?" Because of course, Brittany was right. At least this way, Eloise knows what's going to happen -- maybe not forever, but for the next eleven years, give or take a few months. But if she changes her mind -- if she keeps the journal to herself, keeps Brittany from building the machine, from traveling back in time...

She doesn't know what that would mean, for herself or Daniel or Brittany or anyone. And that uncertainty is, in the end, too much for her to contemplate.

"She'll never forgive us for this, you know," Eloise says. It's a lie, of course. As much as this is going to hurt Brittany, as much as she'll suffer from this moment on, as much danger as it will put her in, she'll forgive them in the end.

If she lives.

Jacob says nothing, just watches her with sorrowful eyes; Eloise takes a deep breath, contemplates the journal in her hands. So strange to have it here, complete, and yet Daniel won't finish his research for another five years. It shouldn't exist at all, really. An impossible thing. A paradox bound in leather.

And yet it's here, waiting for her to complete the circle.

She straightens the brooch fastened above her heart and takes a deep breath. "All right," she says. "Let's go."

The hell of it is, Brittany actually musters a smile when they walk into the room together.

 

1981

 

This is without a doubt the single most idiotic thing Eloise has ever done. 

Which, given the situation with Charles, is really saying something. 

But then that's the problem, isn't it? Because of Charles, because she's pregnant. Because two weeks from now, she is leaving the Island for Los Angeles, so she can have her son safely away from DHARMA stations and DHARMA experiments.

Because she's not an idiot, and she knows damn well who Daniel Faraday is. She doesn't mean to outlive her son before she's even had him.

Anyway, even if she didn't think she could handle a convoy of DHARMA Security personnel by herself (which, after a lifetime on the Island, she bloody well can), she can't die, can she? There's a journal in her pack and a teenage girl waiting to receive it sometime in the distant future, and as long as she has that, she knows she'll survive this. 

She crouches in the tall grass near the road, eyes dropped down and to the left to keep the glare from blinding her, and waits. 

Her best bet is to take out the lead Jeep; they're driving close enough that the ones behind won't be able to stop. The ensuing collision should take out half their forces right there. Once the survivors are out of their vehicles, trying to figure out what's happened, she'll start picking off the most able-bodied of them. It won't be necessary to kill them all, just demoralize them, force a retreat. 

Easy enough, really. 

Of course perhaps it's too easy, at that. Because just as the Jeeps are coming closer, just as she's getting her rifle comfortably settled close to the ground -- no bipod to stabilize it, but she can make this shot in her sleep if she has to -- just as the first Jeep hoves into view and Eloise starts counting ( _one, two, three_ ), barrel aimed at the road ahead and eyes behind, a rough measurement of velocity all she really needs -- a man steps out of the shadows and onto the road, unarmed, hands held high.

Honestly, Eloise isn't sure what the man's expecting, apart from a messy death. The lead Jeep barely slows. 

_five, six_

The man stands his ground. "Horace!" he calls out. "Listen, mate."

_seven, eight_

"Let's talk about this, hey?"

_nine_

Horace, whoever he is, doesn't seem much interested in talking. The Jeep maintains speed.

_ten_

Eloise pulls the trigger, and the Jeep's right front tire explodes in a satisfying spray of rubber. It spins sideways, nearly hitting the man still standing in the middle of the road; he has to stumble backwards quickly to avoid getting crushed when the Jeep finally topples on its side. But he's already done his fair share of damage; the drivers of the other vehicles were clearly expecting something, and they manage to slow, swerve, and stop without the satisfying pileup Eloise had been anticipating. 

It was a good plan. Pity things never do work out the way you expect. 

A woman scrambles out from the undergrowth, heedless of the DHARMA personnel clambering out of their Jeeps. The man's just beginning to push back up to his feet when the woman tackles him back down into the dirt, seconds before the first shots ring out. Nothing seems to hit, but that kind of luck can't hold -- the DHARMA group has all the good cover, and the man and woman are sitting ducks.

Eloise could leave them to their fate -- she doesn't know them, they aren't hers, and they upset a particularly tidy plan -- but she had rather been planning on taking out a few DHARMA folk anyway. And she's never really been a fan of overwhelming odds.

She picks her first target, raises her rifle, and takes him down.

 

*

 

For a long time, all he hears is the sounds of the Jeeps approaching, getting closer and closer. His mouth is dry, his tongue feels heavy and thick. His hands are sweaty, and he can feel his heart rate picking up speed, his breath coming shorter, more shallow. The world around him gets brighter, all those headlights picking up every branch on every tree, every leaf, and he knows he's too far away to be seen but he can't stop himself from cringing, hiding behind Sayid's shoulder. 

Then the Jeeps are passing them -- one, two, three, four -- and for just a moment he almost thinks Eloise isn't going to do anything at all, that she lied, that she won't --

"Horace!" Charlie's voice, and Sayid curses under his breath. "Listen, mate. Let's talk about this, hey?"

Then there's a rifle shot, followed immediately by an explosion of a different kind, a tire blowing out. Brittany's gasp is drowned out by the squeal of brakes, a metallic crash and the higher sound of shattering glass and wow, Eloise is really good at this. Kurt never would've thought of anything like that.

Of course, McKinley doesn't teach guerrilla tactics. 

Then the shooting starts, shouting too -- "One of them's in the bushes!" and "No, no, over there!" and Kurt's moving before Sayid can tell him to, brushing off Brittany's clinging grasp and making for the road before he can really stop to think about it. 

Not that he wants to think about it.

That was the problem with Karofsky; he had too much time to think, to imagine. This can't be that. He can't be scared this time. He just moves, quiet as he can, rifle in his sweat-slippery hands, heading towards the glow of the headlights and the sound of shooting. Looks for jumpsuits, because that's the good thing about the DHARMA-issued coveralls, they're easy to pick out of a crowd. 

Two men crouched behind a Jeep; they're not looking at him. He can't shoot them from behind; that's -- too much, too far. He can't do that. He could hit them with the butt of his rifle, maybe, one of them at least. But then the other, and he's not sure he could get his gun around in time, he's not sure, he's not -- 

"I see her," one of the men says, and shifts position, moving ahead of the Jeep a little. "Cover me. I'm taking this bitch out."

Kurt doesn't think about it. He doesn't let himself get scared. He finds his target -- Mr. Anderson in his ear the whole time: _This isn't a movie, aim for center mass_ \-- squeezes the trigger, watches him fall into the Jeep's hood, sliding down the side panels to come to rest by the tire. 

The second man watches his companion goes down, turns, sees Kurt. He opens his mouth.

_Center mass._ Kurt shoots and the man goes down next to his friend, and Kurt is moving, moving, off the road and back into the underbrush. _Muzzle flare will make you a target_ and someone's bound to notice the shots fired, the two men down; he can't be standing in the middle of the road when they do. 

But he has to keep moving forward, so he does. Slow and cautious, one step at a time, as quietly as he can. The DHARMA people don't seem to be looking at him -- their backs are to him, their guns pointed to the other side of the road. There's a shot, and one of them drops down behind his Jeep; another one shouts out "There! There!" and there's a barrage of bullets. They're trying to _kill_ her, which in retrospect is fairly obvious, but still. They're trying to kill her, and she's pregnant, and Kurt straightens up tall, finds a target, takes him down, and then drops immediately, burying himself under cover as the DHARMA people cry out.

"Holy shit!"

"We're being flanked!" 

More shots, this time directed at him, and none of them are that close -- it's not like he feels them brushing by his cheeks or anything, but there's still a moment when everything stops and it's just the noise of shot after shot, his breathing drowned out completely and his face is in the dirt and it's so dark and he wonders, for just a moment, if he would even know it if he died right now.

Then the shots change direction -- Eloise must've gotten someone else -- and Kurt crawls further ahead, always moving forward, always getting some distance between where he is and where he was because if he's not dead he's alive and if he's alive he's gonna stay that way as long as possible...

Then he sees her. DHARMA jumpsuit, long blonde hair and she turns and sees him and he almost -- Until he realizes who it is and his heart unclenches.

Shannon stares back at him, eyes wide. "Kurt?" she asks, so quiet but it's still too loud.

A second later, Kurt hears footsteps on the road. Too close, and Shannon was too loud and Kurt doesn't think, he just _does_. Rises up, rifle in hand and finger on the trigger and the man must have found them before Shannon even spoke because he's so close to them that Kurt is looking him straight in the eye when he shoots (heavy black eyebrows like Blaine's, shock in his dark eyes), his rifle barrel practically pressed to the man's stomach and the noise is so loud, and he can see the blood, there's so much of it, spraying out behind, and when the man falls there's another man right behind him, a man with glasses and a bald head and a thick beard and he's smiling -- one of his friends is dead, and he's smiling when he raises his gun and points it at Kurt and Kurt's too slow and he can't -- 

Something warm and heavy and soft hits Kurt an instant before the bullet can, knocks him back off the road -- it's big, covering him, crushing him, and he feels something warm and wet soaking through his own DHARMA coveralls and he doesn't understand anything, nothing makes sense at all, he's thinking and he's thinking too much and he can't stop it --

And Shannon says, "Charlie?" 

Oh. Oh God.

There is a hand pressed to the ground next to Kurt's face -- there's a big ring on one finger; it says _DS_ on it. The fingers tighten in the dirt, then release; Charlie takes a deep, shuddering breath that Kurt can feel through his arm, his side and his back, and then exhales slowly. His breath rattles in his lungs. 

From the road, Kurt hears a rifle bolt slamming home, a bullet in the chamber. It's the bald man, it has to be, and Kurt's not sure whether the man's going for Shannon or for him, but he can't let this happen either way, but Charlie's so heavy on top of him, so hard to get out from under, and he can't --

"Miles," the bald man says. 

"Give me an excuse." Kurt doesn't know Miles, really, but he doesn't think he's ever heard him that angry before. "One excuse, that's all I need, and we can find out if the future needs you that badly. Personally, I kind of think it doesn't."

But the bald man must think it does, because Miles never shoots. No one's shooting anymore; everything's quiet now except for Charlie's desperate gasps for air. Someone rolls his body over and off of Kurt, and he pushes himself up out of the grass and the dirt and the leaves, glancing back just once at the road. Juliet's got a handgun to the head of some guy with long hair and glasses, and Eloise and Miles have their rifles pointed at the bald man with the beard, and Sayid got a gun from somewhere and he's there with them, and it's over. It's all over now.

Too late.

Kurt turns back to Charlie staring up at the sky, to Shannon pressing both hands to Charlie's stomach and saying, "Charlie, Charlie, stay with me --" 

He doesn't even know Charlie, that's the thing. He and Charlie barely even spoke. 

"Kurt," Charlie says, finally, like it hurts to say, and Kurt grabs for his hand, the one with the ring, because he doesn't know Charlie, but Charlie still cared enough to die for him and it doesn't make sense. 

Brittany settles in next to Kurt, her head on his shoulder, and Kurt almost tells her she's too young to be seeing this. But she's the same age as he is, or at least close, so he doesn't.

"I'm here," Kurt says instead, voice pitching high and breaking. "I'm right here, I'm -- You didn't have to do that. You didn't have to --"

Charlie rolls his head to the side, and looks at Kurt, and smiles. "All right?"

"I'm fine," Kurt says, even though it's a lie, because he knows what Charlie means. "Don't -- Just stay with us, okay? You have to stay with us, and see Mr. Anderson again -- Ben, you have to see him, you have to see Ben, and -- And you have to stay, you just have to."

No response. Charlie turns to Shannon then, looks at her. Lifts one hand up like he's going to touch her face, then lets it fall. 

One last, long sigh, and he's gone.

Brittany wraps both arms around Kurt's waist, holds on to him as he starts to cry.

 

2000

 

It would be so easy to step in, to offer guidance. No one pays much attention to the boy, even with his father gone. No one would see him; no one would recognize him even if they did. Eloise is long gone, Richard has been sent away and won't be back until it's over. All Jacob has to do is walk up to the little house, walk through the door, and find the boy. He wouldn't have to say too much or be too explicit; Blaine is very young, but he's very clever. Special in ways he's only beginning to wake up to. 

A few steps. A few words.

It would be so easy.

Jacob has never trusted easy things. And the struggle is important, particularly so in this case. Struggle is what strengthens, and Blaine will need every ounce of strength he can muster.

It's hard to turn away, to leave Blaine all alone to figure things out for himself.

But that's what Jacob does.

 

2011

 

"Almost there," Jack says, taking Blaine's elbow when he stumbles trying to climb the last rise, helping him along.

He's so tired. He's barely slept since his father was taken. He's eaten exactly one papaya. It's dark, and the wind off the ocean is chilly, and he just wants to stop and rest, just for a little while. But he can't, so he doesn't. He lets Jack hold him up, and he stumbles along as best he can, and he keeps moving until Jack finally brings them to a stop.

In the moon's dim light, it's hard to tell what he's supposed to be looking at. But there's something on the beach -- like a campsite, almost. Little lean-tos, half of them fallen over, ragged tents. What might be a fire pit towards the center, and a dim shape in the distance that might be a solar still. It doesn't look like any place his people have ever lived -- sometimes they pretend to be savages, to fool outsiders, but in their own communities they're clean and organized and well-maintained. This...

This is the opposite of that. 

"What is this place?" Blaine asks, when he realizes that Jack isn't going to explain himself without prompting.

Jack turns his wide, shark's grin in Blaine's direction. "This is the beginning of the end, Blaine," he says, and with one arm around Blaine's shoulders, starts leading him towards the tents. He spreads his other arm wide, gesturing around himself, showing the place off. "The crash site of Oceanic 815."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those who might be unfamiliar with the term, a "donut" is a small tire used as a temporary fix for a vehicle that has a flat tire and no actual spare. It's only meant to be driven on long enough to get the car to a mechanic, but some people like to live dangerously.


	19. Must Converge

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Island has torn them all apart, scattered them to different places, even different times. It's up to Daniel and Charlotte to bring them back together again. Some will find their paths crossing with people they never expected to see again; others will meet with familiar strangers. Some, however, will find their friends every bit as gone as they were before.

_"This is the beginning of the end, Blaine," he says, and with one arm around Blaine's shoulders, starts leading him towards the tents. He spreads his other arm wide, gesturing around himself, showing the place off. "The crash site of Oceanic 815."_

"It's not that bad, really," Jack says, strolling casually along the moonlit sand as Blaine stumbles in his wake. "I mean, obviously, it's not what you're used to. Your people have been living here for... Well. For a long time. The Oceanic 815 survivors didn't have the benefit of that experience. But they did the best they could with what they had. Things that they scavenged from the plane itself, the occasional DHARMA re-supply drop..." He winks at Blaine, then ducks into a nearby tent and comes out moments later with a box of DHARMA granola bars and a plastic bottle of water. He holds them out to Blaine.

It's so _staged_ , such a humiliating performance. It's sickening. As hungry as he is, Blaine can't bring himself to take food from Jack's hands, not now. He sets his jaw, and looks Jack in the eye, and says nothing.

Jack shakes his head and sighs. "Haven't we been over this enough by now?" he asks, almost gently. "If you don't eat, Blaine, you won't be able to do what you're supposed to. And if you don't do what you're supposed to, people are going to die. I really hope you don't expect me to believe that your pride is more important to you than the thought of all those innocent lives in danger. I know you better than that. So, please. For their sake."

Blaine's stomach churns; his eyes sting with tears and a sob chokes his throat, but he takes the damned granola bars and the fucking bottle of water, and doesn't throw them to the ground.

"Thank you." Jack says it with an odd sincerity; Blaine refuses to let himself trust it. "Let's find a place for you to sit down." He takes Blaine's elbow and leads him down the beach a little further, towards the dark, scorched remnants of the old fire pit. Blaine wonders how long ago it went cold. "I know this must have been so exhausting for you, and I'm sorry about that. But it's almost over now, and then I think you'll be able to rest a little bit. In the meantime, here." He sits down on one of the logs, pats the space next to him; Blaine settles a little further away. "Let's take a second, okay?"

Silence. Blaine uncaps the water bottle and drinks -- he has no idea how long it's been sitting there or how old it is, but it's still water, still feels like heaven in his parched mouth and dry throat. He tears the box open, pulls out a granola bar, rips the wrapper (tries not to think of Ana joking with him about the all-mango diet, her dark eyes and the warmth of her smile). He wants it to taste like ashes in his mouth, but it's good -- sweet, chewy, the chips just bitter enough to keep it from cloying in his mouth. It's gone in a moment, and he's on to the second one. It's so good that it's awful; he shouldn't be able to eat, to drink, not now. But he's doing both, and it's incredible, and he hates that.

At least Jack has the tact not to gloat. He claps Blaine on the shoulder after the second empty wrapper hits the sand, points out at a dark shape looming on the horizon, and says, "You see that? It's what's left of the fuselage. They had to burn it, after the crash. It was the bodies, you see. All those dead bodies still inside, rotting. There were 324 people on Oceanic 815. 252 didn't even survive the crash. They weren't important, you see. _He_ didn't need them. So he just let them die." 

In the middle of his third granola bar, Blaine suddenly loses his appetite.

"And then the bodies started to attract boar, and I'm sure I don't have to tell you how dangerous those can be, especially when there's food and you're in the way. I mean, you grew up here. You know all about the Island, how dangerous it can be. Anyway. The survivors couldn't just leave all those bodies there, and there were too many to bury, even if they did have tools. So they took out whatever they could salvage, burned the rest, and left that shell behind.

"252 people." Jack shakes his head, strangely somber. "There was a time, once, when I might even have blamed them for it. Humans fight; they destroy. And it always ends the same. But it isn't them at all, is it? It's this place. More than that, it's _him_. Because he doesn't care, not really. It's all just a game to him. Doesn't matter what happens to the rest of you, as long as he beats me in the end. As long as he wins."

And then he stops talking, looks over at Blaine, expectant.

Blaine lets the silence stretch on as long as he can stand it; he knows that Jack is waiting to be asked but he hates to give him the satisfaction. In the end, though, he gives in, sighs, and lets Jack have what he wants. "And by _he_ , you mean --"

"You know who I mean, Blaine." Jack smiles then, teeth all bared. "You've heard his name over and over again. From Charles, from Ethan, from Richard. The man who really gives the orders around here; the man behind the curtain. Jacob."

Blaine's mouth goes dry; he feels a little like the granola bars are about to come back up. "You said John Locke was taking my father to him," he stammers, heart beating wildly in his chest. Because he can see where Jack is leading him, where all this talk of death and dying is going to go, and it's nowhere good. "You said --"

"I did say that." Jack clasps both hands in front of him, stares at where the fires have long since burned themselves out. "I said that, and I saw how you reacted. You were terrified. Because you know what Jacob has asked of your father in the past. What he's done to him. And so you knew that anything Jacob asked of your father would be sure to destroy him. And that terrified you, Blaine. And it should. Because you know better than anyone how little Jacob really cares.

"But you care. You care about your father, about Cooper, about Kurt and Brittany... You care about all of them." The worst thing is, Jack's no longer smiling. His face is so serious, so sad, so old. And Blaine knows better, he knows what Jack is, but still -- "And that's why it's going to be you."

He doesn't want to know. He really doesn't. But there's not a lot of fight left in him, and what he does have -- well, he's got a feeling he's going to need it. So he tucks it away, saves it for later, and asks, "What is?"

 

1981

 

Ben's gone. 

She knows it before she even enters the house, before she's even set one bare foot on the steps leading up to the front porch . There's a soft breeze blowing the hems of her favorite blue pajamas around her ankles, and she stands there shivering and looks up at the closed door, at the dark windows. Ben's dad always leaves the lights on, and Ben's too afraid at night to go out and turn them off; he told her that, once, when he was at her house doing science homework and he could hardly keep his eyes open -- told her that he couldn't sleep with the light coming under his door but then she let him lie down in her bed and he fell asleep just like that, in full daylight, and she knew it wasn't really the light at all. 

It was Ben's father. It was always him.

And now Ben is gone. His father took him somewhere, out past the fence, into the jungle. She shouldn't know that; it shouldn't be true, but she does and it is. The lights in Ben's house are out, just like they were in the dream, and that means it's all true. Ben is gone.

 _I'll find him_ , the boy said. He had dark hair and pretty blue eyes and a turned-up nose -- he was older than her and Ben, taller, and his voice was high and sweet and somehow familiar, and he told her, _I'll find him. I'll take care of him. Don't worry about it._

But he was just a boy in a dream, and this is real, and Annie doesn't trust dreams that much.

Ben is out there in the jungle somewhere with his father, who is more hostile than any Hostile Annie can ever conceive of, and he needs someone to help him. Someone he can trust.

He has always trusted Annie, and she's not about to let him down.

She turns away from Ben's house and runs out towards the jungle.

 

*

 

It's not the first time he's seen Ben at this age. Young, wide-eyed, still innocent. But it's different, up close like this. The boy is trying to push himself up, to keep running, but his skinny arms can barely hold him off the ground and he's so pale, so fragile. And this is right; Desmond understands that now. What he's doing is the right thing.

"Easy there," he says, and helps Ben into a sitting position. The boy is all thin skin and sharp elbows under his hands, and yes. This is the right thing. "Are you all right?"

Ben trembles, his breath still wheezing harsh and raspy in his lungs. "You're one of them," he mumbles, as Desmond starts feeling the back of Ben's head for obvious lumps. There's something about his unfocused eyes that suggests a concussion; Desmond doesn't have access to any medical supplies out here, but if he can get the boy back to the DHARMA Barracks, then maybe -- "You're a Hostile."

"Do I seem hostile to you?" Desmond tries a smile, but Ben doesn't seem interested in responding. Of course, the boy has no real reason to trust him -- they're strangers, and Desmond doubts very much he could pass for DHARMA the way that Kate and the others have. But he needs to bridge the distance, and quickly. So he goes back to the basics. "What's your name?" he asks.

Ben opens his mouth, but is abruptly silenced by shouting from elsewhere in the jungle. "Ben! Ben, goddammit, where are you?"

It's Roger Linus. He'll be on them any second, and Desmond steels himself for the confrontation. It's a little late to wish he had some sort of weapon, but he's been convincing enough in the past. If nothing else, he'll go down trying. "Stay behind me," he murmurs, and places himself between Ben and the future, and prays that he's enough.

 

*

 

She's still wearing her pajamas. 

That's what Burt notices first -- her bare feet, dirty, sticking out from under the hems of her pajama pants; her hair in twin braids down the back. She's so small; not that she ever really did get much taller, of course, but there was a poise to her, a composure that made her feel so much larger than she really was. She hasn't grown into that yet. She's just a kid, small and fragile and way in over her head. Like Kurt, in a lot of ways that Burt can't spare too much thought for right now.

But like Kurt, she's stubborn too, creeping forward even as the situation goes from bad to awful. Burt wants to follow, but he knows he's too big, too loud for this kind of thing. So he hangs back, lets Kate go on ahead of him, silently closing the gap between herself and Annie. 

"Please," Ben's mystery protector says, just too far ahead for Burt to see him. The accent almost sounds like Charlie, but not quite. Less Beatle, more _Braveheart_. And the voice is all wrong, deeper, rasping more. Can't be anyone Burt knows. He thinks. He hopes. "You don't understand what this will do to you, what it will do to --"

"Three," Roger says, counting down, and Burt holds his breath. Kate's so close to Annie, but Annie's so close to Roger, and the whole moment hangs precariously in the balance. It's not set in stone. It's not safe. It could all change right now, in this moment. "Two." 

"You're making a --"

Kate nabs Annie just as the first shot rings out, almost but not quite drowning out Annie's surprised yelp. Then another shot, and then a long, long silence. Eyes still dazzled by the muzzle flare, Burt can barely see -- he recognizes the dim shape of Kate standing absolutely still for a long moment, but that's all he knows. It's entirely possible that they've lost everything by now. 

Then Roger is muttering under his breath, "Get up," and "Come on," and Burt bristles at the tone of his voice, at the sound of Ben's stumbling footsteps and ragged breathing, but he forces himself to hold still, to let it happen. To not change a damn thing, even if he wishes like hell that he could.

He'll hate himself for it, of course, but Ben won't, and that's going to have to be enough to survive on.

"Kate?" he asks, when he trusts his voice. 

She doesn't answer; crouches down, mutters something, and Annie lets out a choked sob that breaks Burt's heart. Kate pulls her in close, Annie's face hidden in her shoulder, rubs her back, keeps talking. Burt can't hear what she's saying, but then he figures that's the point. 

He wonders if Kate will ever forgive him for this. 

Honestly, he wouldn't blame her if she didn't.

"Come on," Kate says, finally, standing up, Annie still clinging to her waist, face pressed to Kate's ribs. "I'll take you home."

"But Ben --"

"He'll be fine." Kate's eyes finally meet Burt's; there's no anger there, just sorrow. "I promise you. He'll be fine."

Annie sniffles into Kate's jumpsuit. "But I'll miss him."

"I know," Kate says, softly, still looking right at Burt. "I will too. Come on; your parents are probably wondering where you are."

Annie finally lets go of Kate when they start walking, leaning heavily into her side with an arm around Kate's waist. She looks up at Burt as they pass; cheeks and chin blurred with baby fat, everything about her unfinished. But he can still see the woman she'll grow into, the woman he'll love so much for so long, the woman he'll lose in the end. 

There's so much he wishes he could say.

He doesn't say anything at all. 

"Go check on Desmond," Kate murmurs as she passes, and he blinks at the crown of her curly head, her ponytail as she passes by. 

Desmond. 

Where the hell has he heard that name before?

He puts it aside and gets moving. 

It's not until Burt is almost on top of the guy that he realizes -- he's still alive. He's got both hands clutched to his belly, and they're black with blood -- it's just coming out of him, pulse after pulse, but his eyes are open, and he's breathing, and he's still alive.

"Jesus," he says, and starts patting himself down, looking for something to staunch the bleeding, anything at all, until he realizes -- DHARMA coveralls. Right. 

He digs in the pocket for his knife, flips it open, and as best he can manage one-handed, starts cutting at his sleeve.

"Don't," Desmond says, and Burt pauses for a second, looks at him. The guy's eyes are locked on him, and he's smiling. He's actually smiling. "Don't bother. Believe me, it's better this way."

"Yeah, well." Burt goes back to hacking at his sleeve, finally manages to cut through enough of it that the rest can be torn with just his bare hands pulling, tugging until the whole thing rips free and he can pull it down over his hand. "Why don't you let me be the judge of that, okay?"

He pulls Desmond's hands away from his stomach (it's hard, guy's still got some strength left in him), pushes the wadded up sleeve down onto his stomach. There's so much blood, though, and it's coming out so fast, and he's not --

"You don't understand, brother," Desmond says, both sticky hands coming to rest over Burt's. "I've seen how it ends. I know what's going to happen. But the thing is, it can't happen if I'm not there to see it, can it? If I'm dead, if I'm gone -- This is what I was supposed to do. I'm supposed to die."

And that, okay, that. That pisses Burt off a little, not much, but enough. "Really?" he asks. "So tell me something, since you know so much. If you're supposed to die, then why the hell would I be here?"

"Come again?" Desmond asks.

"You're not supposed to die," Burt says. He slides his hands out from underneath Desmond's and goes to work unbuttoning his coveralls. He's going to need a hell of a lot more bandages for this kind of bleeding, and it'll be easier to cut the jumpsuit apart if he's not wearing the damn thing. "If you were, someone else would be here. Someone who gives up easy. And that ain't me."

Desmond chuckles, sighs, lets his head tip to the side. "Suit yourself, brother," he says. "But I'm warning you. You're wasting your time."

"It's my time to waste," Burt says, and works his right arm out of the remaining sleeve. Then he grabs the knife again and starts hacking at the waistband of his coveralls. Maybe he can save this Desmond guy, maybe he can't. But hell if he's not going to try.

 

*

 

It's hard to tear her eyes away from where Kurt crouches by the edge of the road, Charlie's hand in both his, head hanging low. It's hard, but Juliet's always been good at doing hard things. She pulls herself back to the problem at hand, to Horace Goodspeed's lank hair in her face and his bearded friend standing ten feet away, rifle still in his hands. 

"Put it down, Stuart," Horace says. He sounds exhausted, worn out; Juliet can't really muster sympathy. Stuart wasn't the only one with his gun trained on Kurt Hummel. He was just the one who actually had time to get a shot out of his rifle. "It's over."

"Let them kill me," Stuart says, and Miles takes a step in, gun at the ready, only stopped by Sayid's hand on his shoulder. "Hell, let them kill both of us for all I care. And tomorrow, when they find us out here, then maybe the others will finally do something about these damned savages out in the jungle instead of tolerating them like you've made us do for so long. So kill me. Kill me right now and know that all of you die tomorrow."

The blonde woman, the one Juliet vaguely recognizes but can't quite put a name on, laughs at that. "You're joking, right?" she asks. British accent, should be a dead giveaway, but it's not enough somehow. "You can't kill us. If you could have, you would've done it by now." She turns to Horace, lets the barrel of her rifle drop until it's pointing at the ground, and starts slowly closing the distance. "Your friend here isn't tolerating us," she says, smiling faintly; Horace twitches backward into the barrel of Juliet's gun. Whoever this woman is, she's good. "We tolerate him and he keeps you in line, because he knows that if he doesn't, he starts a war that none of you will survive."

"And he really doesn't want that," Juliet says, and the tensing of Horace's shoulders tells her that he recognizes the sound of her voice. "Especially not now that he's got his son to think about. So if you want to die today, Stuart, that's your choice to make, but don't think you're going to be a martyr. Horace will just cover you up like he will the rest of it, and then he'll move on. And thirty years from now, no one will even remember you were here. If I were you, I'd put the gun down before Miles loses his patience."

Sayid being Sayid, he immediately takes his hand off Miles's shoulder, letting him take that last step in and raise his weapon. 

"Or don't put it down," Miles says. "Your call."

For a split second, Juliet wonders if Stuart is braver than she's giving him credit for. Then he raises his left hand, points the barrel to the ground, and very slowly crouches, laying his weapon down at his feet.

And so ends the easy part. 

"Out of curiosity?" Horace asks, turning his head slightly to the side, but not quite enough for him to really see Juliet's face. "What is it that's so important about my son? Why him?"

"Because I could," Juliet says. "Because I have lost a lot of babies and a lot of mothers on this Island, and I wanted to save someone while I still had the chance to. That's why." She digs the barrel of her gun into the space between his shoulder blades until he stumbles forward. "There's about to be an Incident at the Orchid. Once it happens, a lot of things are going to go wrong for pregnant women on this Island. You need to get them off the Island within their first trimester. Don't wait. If you do... If you do, it'll end badly."

"And you know this how?" Horace asks, but he doesn't sound nearly as skeptical as he should. 

She wonders what he knows about her, what he guesses. It probably doesn't matter. "I just know," she says, and pokes him again. "Get moving. You've got a lot of work ahead of you. And remember what I told you."

As Horace passes the blonde, Juliet finally sees what she's been missing all along -- the curve of her belly, the swelling of her chest. The woman has to be five months along at least, possibly more, and Juliet finally knows who she is. "Hello, Eloise," she murmurs.

"So I sent you too, did I?" Eloise comes to stand beside her, the two of them shoulder-to-shoulder, watching Horace and Stuart slip away into the night. Horace stoops to help another man up; in the distance, Juliet can see two more struggling to their feet. More survivors than she thought, then, but not nearly enough. "I always did have good taste."

It's a compliment, Juliet supposes. Enough of one to make her smile a little, but not enough to make her speak.

"So," Eloise says, finally. "Now what?"

"We'll be gone soon, I think." Juliet lets herself turn away, just for a moment, looking backwards at where the Orchid station sits somewhere, out in the blackness. Behind her, she can hear the doors of a Jeep slamming shut, the sound of tires on a gravel road. "You should get back to your people. I don't think Horace and Stuart are going to come back after this, but you can't be too careful."

"I suppose not." Eloise doesn't move right away, though; when Juliet looks back, she sees her attention has been caught by Kurt, still sitting slumped in the ditch with Brittany leaning against him. "I was younger than he was," she says, softly. "The first time I -- I was younger, but not by very much, and at the time I didn't feel anything, really. But when it was over, when I had a chance to think about it..." She shakes her head, sighs, and finally turns back to Juliet. "Don't let him tell you he's fine," she says. "Because he won't be. Not for a long time."

Juliet was older than the both of them, of course, not that it matters. Some day, she'll have to figure out how Kurt wound up in this position in the first place. "I'll take care of him," she says. "As much as he'll let me, anyway."

Eloise rests a hand on her shoulder, then turns away into the shadows, into the night. Just before she disappears entirely, Juliet calls out to her. "Eloise," she says, and Eloise looks back over her shoulder. "What I said about pregnant women --"

"I leave in three days," Eloise says, and smiles. "And going by what I've seen today, I think everything's going to turn out fine. But I appreciate your concern."

Then she vanishes into the darkness.

As Juliet turns back to Kurt and Brittany and Shannon, huddled around Charlie's body, she feels every hair on her arms standing on end. There's an electrical humming in the air, and even standing in the glare of the headlights from the remaining Jeeps, she would swear that the sky is getting lighter, and lighter, and --

 

*

 

The last thing Kate sees, before the light gets too bright and she has to cover her eyes and turn away, is Annie's red-rimmed eyes and tear-streaked cheeks, her shocked face staring at Kate from the other side of the Barracks fence, forever out of reach. 

The home she built for herself, the people she loved. The life she finally lived after so long just surviving. All of it gone in a surge of white light and a high, piercing scream of noise and it's nobody's fault, it's just the way things are, but that doesn't mean she can't hate it. 

And she does. She hates it so goddamn much it's hard to breathe around the burning in her chest.

The world goes dark and peaceful and still. Kate leaves her head hidden in the crook of her elbow just a moment longer, lets a sob hitch out of her -- just one, just one moment to weep for what she's lost before she goes to pick up the pieces of whatever she has left. She counts to herself -- _five, four, three_ \--

On _two_ , she hears the sudden sound of a rumbling engine and tires on rough ground, and turns, reaching for a gun she only wishes she were still carrying. There's headlights approaching, a DHARMA van, and this is not what was supposed to happen -- they were supposed to be back where they started, they're not supposed to still --

The van stops twenty feet from her. The passenger side door opens, and a small figure slips out, landing lightly on the ground. Female. Familiar. But it doesn't quite hit until the woman calls out "Kate?"

She knows that voice. As long as it's been, and it's been a long time, she still knows that voice.

"Sun?"

 

2011

 

They've been out here for, like, a day and a half, and Puck's starting to feel like an idiot. "Are you sure --" he starts, for what's probably the twentieth time, and Rachel smacks him on the shoulder. 

For a girl, she sure hits hard.

"You see that?" she asks, pointing at a pole in the distance. There's a black thing on it, like a box, or something. "That's a camera. Want to tell me why there's a camera pointed at a random spot in the middle of the desert?"

"Livestream?" he suggests, and she hits him again. "Ow!"

"Obviously, someone's looking for the Island. They know how to leave, they know where people end up where they do, and they wanted to get here before anyone else could." Rachel turns her attention back to the same spot of sand, leaning forward with an eagerness that's almost sort of creepy. "That's why."

"The question is," Jesse says, a little more quietly, "who put the camera there, and how fast are they coming?"

"Actually, he's not." 

Puck jumps a little when Eloise speaks; so does Jesse, at least, so he's not the only wuss. He can't help it, though. She's super-creepy, what with the shawls and the accent and the knowing everything that's going to happen. "Charles has found his way back to the Island, which is all he ever cared about. He's not interested in who might be leaving. Believe me, we are perfectly safe here."

There's something funny in the way she says it, something that makes Puck want to ask her a million questions, except he can't quite figure out what any of them are supposed to be. And just when he thinks he's got the first three or four words finally strung together, Tina lets out a yelp from the other Jeep and scrambles out, running across the sand with Mike and that super-hot Noor chick hurrying after her, leaving Artie and Mike's dad behind.

At first, all Puck sees is heat shimmer, or what looks like heat shimmer anyways. But then he sees something dark behind it, something like a person. Or two people. 

"Holy shit," he says, and starts moving, Rachel and Jesse hot on his heels. For ten seconds, maybe twelve or thirteen, it's the greatest feeling ever. Because for ten to thirteen seconds, he's absolutely positive that it's Kurt and Brittany. That they did the Island-moving thing, that they're back, and maybe that's not everyone, but it's a start, and then maybe everyone else will come too, or they'll find them another way; maybe Kurt and Brittany can help find them, or --

But then his thirteen seconds are up, and he stops dead just before he manages to run into Tina, who is standing there staring at the two people in the sand. The two people who are very definitely not Kurt and Brittany.

"Hello," the man says, looking up at them, confused. He has a necktie on, and a white short-sleeved shirt like a Mormon would wear; he's got his arm around the back of this red-headed woman who's leaning forward, staring at the sand like she's lost a contact or something. "I... um... I'm sorry, I'm not entirely sure what's --"

"Daniel!" Eloise pushes past Puck, almost knocking Tina down, and falls to her knees in the sand, reaching out to grab the man's shoulder. "Daniel, Daniel, oh Daniel --"

"Mother," the guy says, and puts his arm around her, and that's when Puck realizes they've all been had.

"I don't understand," Rachel says, her voice smaller than Puck's ever heard it. "Where's Brittany? Where's Kurt? I thought --"

And Daniel's face falls, looking up at them. "I'm so sorry," he says, softly, and looks at the woman clinging to him, and looks back up at them. "I am so sorry; they stayed, I couldn't --" He looks back at Eloise again; she doesn't pull away from him, but she straightens. "Why didn't you tell them? I know you remember; you never forget anything. Why didn't you --"

_we are perfectly safe here_

She sets her chin defiantly, and finally turns away from Daniel to look at the rest of them, and that's when the redhead falls face first into the sand and starts twitching. 

Puck's moving before he's even really thought about it, crouching down by the redhead and helping Daniel turn her over. She sort of winds up draped over his lap, still shaking, and her eyes are like half open and her nose is bleeding and there's this foam stuff coming from her mouth and it's like Brittany outside the choir room but fifty times worse. 

"Charlotte," Daniel says, cradling her face in both hands, and she makes this choked noise and sort of whimpers a little bit. "Charlotte, Charlotte, can you hear me? Charlotte --"

"Turn it up," Charlotte mumbles, and smiles. "Love Geronimo Jackson." Then her eyes close, and she stops twitching, and for a horrible moment, Puck thinks she's dead. 

"Charlotte --" Daniel says again, and she takes in a big, shuddering gasp of air, and starts twitching again.

"She needs her Constant," Tina says. "Like Brittany did in the choir room. She needs --"

"She needs a doctor," Mike's dad says, from behind Puck's shoulder. "And then we need to have a very long talk."

Eloise stares back at him for a long moment, and then stands up, brushing the sand off her skirt. "He's right," she says, glancing down at Daniel and Puck. "We can't tend to Miss Lewis here. We need to get her back to civilization."

"Could you --" Daniel says, but Puck's like a million miles ahead of him. He shifts Charlotte until one of his arms is under her knees and the other one's got her good and tight under the armpits, and he stands up with her in his arms just like that, only staggering a little bit under the weight.

"I got her, dude," he says, and tries to take comfort in the fact that if he can't save Kurt and Brittany, he can at least save her. "Come on. Let's go."

They head off across the sand together, everyone else following behind. 

"I don't understand," Rachel says, softly. "I don't... I don't understand."

Puck's pretty sure he does, or that he will once he learns who this Charles dude is and why it's so important that they stay safe from him. 

He understands.

He just wishes he didn't.

 

*

 

"Picked the wrong side, Frank," Keamy drawls, smirking, one hand on his semi-automatic, and Frank says nothing.

Hell, what is he supposed to say? Noble speeches aren't exactly his forte, and this doesn't seem like the best moment for sarcasm. So he sits on his stone slab in the basement of this weird-ass building, underneath the not-at-all-ominous chains dangling from the ceiling, and keeps his damn mouth shut. Watches Widmore pacing in front of the plexiglass wall that separates Frank from his erstwhile colleagues. Waits.

"I'm not interested in where the rest of the passengers have gone," Widmore says, finally. "For all I care, you could have set them on fire. What I want to know is -- where is Benjamin Linus?"

That, at least, Frank can answer. "John Locke's got him," he says. "Took him back to the main Island. Don't know where exactly they went, or why they went there. All I know is Locke took him."

Widmore raises his eyebrows. "And you know this how?"

Frank swallows hard. "Because Ethan was with him when it happened," he says, and watches Widmore's frown deepen. It's not skepticism, not exactly, more like he's trying to put it all together and failing. Not that Frank has that much more information, really, but hopefully it's enough. "They went out looking for someone -- Hugo, I think. He'd gone missing, so they went out after him. Maybe an hour later, Ethan comes stumbling out of the jungle with a knife in his back." 

That gets Widmore somewhere deep; he jolts, eyes widening. But he doesn't say anything, so Frank figures he'd better keep talking.

"Obviously, Ethan wasn't saying much. But he and that Blaine kid -- I don't know if I can explain it, exactly. They had some kind of... Some kind of moment. A communion, maybe. And when it was over, Blaine said Locke had taken his father, and that he was going to get him back." And that, too, has an impact, makes something almost like sorrow pass over Widmore's face. "Bunch of people went with him -- Ana, Sun Kwon, couple of guys. And that was the last I heard about any of them. My hand to God."

Keamy looks at him, then at Widmore.

The white-haired fella behind him, that Inman guy, turns to the big boss too. "So where do we go from here?" he asks.

Widmore takes a big breath, lifts up his chin and turns around; and then some chick with glasses comes crashing into the room, clutching a wad of papers in her hands. She beelines for Widmore, grabbing onto his arm and leaning in to whisper in his ear. She shoves the papers at him and then takes a step back, bumping into Omar; he blinks at her, but doesn't say shit. So she's important, basically.

Widmore looks down at the papers. He looks up at Frank. His face is an interesting shade of red, the kind that doesn't really look good on anyone. "Who are they?" he asks.

"Not trying to be difficult," Frank says, because he's not, really; he's been around Keamy long enough to know that's a bad idea. "But you're gonna have to give me some kind of idea just who --"

"There is a boat," Widmore says, drawing himself up a little taller. "Less than forty miles offshore. Who are they, and how --"

"Oh yeah," Frank says, and tries not to make it too obvious how terrified he is of fucking this up. "Ana said something, after I turned the beacon on. Some friend of Linus's -- Holly, I think the name was. Holly Holliday. She'd been looking for the Island anyway, trying to find some guy named Desmond or something? Wasn't too clear on that. But apparently this Holly and some other girl, might've been called Penny, they were gonna try to follow the signal, too. Come get their boyfriends back. And, well, I couldn't exactly turn the signal off or you guys never would've made it, so --"

Widmore goes from red to purple, and Frank wonders for a moment if he might've pushed a little bit too hard. Then Widmore turns away, goes over to Inman. "I want everyone on that boat," he says, and then looks at Keamy, and adds, "And I want them all alive. Subdue them if you need to, but no unnecessary damage. And that goes double for the women."

Judging by the look on Inman's face, it's the first time he's been given that particular order. But then he shrugs, says, "You got it," and stalks off, Omar and Keamy and their men in his wake. 

Widmore stays behind, the woman with the glasses hovering over his shoulder, fidgeting all the while. He walks up to the plexiglass, lays one hand on it, and says, "If anything happens to my daughter --"

And it's probably the dumbest thing Frank's ever said, but he just can't help himself. "You told me to take that flight," he says. "You told me to put that beacon in my cockpit, and you told me to turn it on as soon as I landed. All I ever did is what you told me to. So if anything happens to your daughter, Mr. Widmore, you'll know exactly whose fault it is."

That hits hard enough to make Widmore take a step back (the woman with the glasses takes two, of course.) For a moment, Frank half expects Widmore to come in and do what Keamy'd so clearly been itching to do all along. But then he straightens, smooths down his linen jacket, and stalks away entirely, leaving Frank on the slab, with the chains hanging down over him, and no clue what to do next. 

 

*

 

Holly stares out at the dark smear at the edge of the horizon and wraps Ben's cardigan a little tighter around her shoulders. 

Funny, how that same impulsive streak that once would've told her to run away is now screaming that she should just jump over the side and start swimming. Anything to get there faster. To get to him faster.

But she's got three kids to think about, and three adults too, so she stays where she is, eyes on that smudge of land so close and yet so far, and says, "Look. I'm not saying we should just go charging up to the Island and pray your dad doesn't start shooting at us, but. We can't exactly turn back, either. We're gonna have to think of something, and do it fast."

Penny nods, wind whipping her hair around her face. She has to be feeling it, too -- that same itch. That longing. Problem is, though, they're all gonna feel it. As soon as they see that Island, everyone's going to stop thinking clearly. Well, everyone but Wes. Maybe Michael. But Carole, Finn, Santana?

"I might have something," Penny says. "But I'm going to need your help convincing the others to go along with what I've got in mind. I doubt any of them will like it much. You'll like it, though." She glances at Holly, smiles just a little. "You get to do something dangerous and stupid."

"That does sound fun." Holly stares out at the Island a little longer, then takes a deep breath. "All right," she says, and turns around, putting her back to the railing. Easier to concentrate this way, when she's not distracted so much by hope. "What am I sweet-talking the kids into this time?"

 

*

 

It's not until they're at the base of the Statue, not until Jack has pushed one of the walls back, exposing the long, dark path ahead of them that Blaine's courage finally starts to waver. "I don't --" 

Jack turns and looks at him, face shadowed and unreadable, and Blaine swallows hard.

"I don't know if I can do this," he whispers. "I don't -- I'm scared."

Jack holds still for a moment, long enough that Blaine almost expects to see the smoke forming behind him, almost expects to be found, at the final moment, unworthy. But then Jack steps forward, with his human face and that ancient sadness in his eyes, rests a hand on Blaine's shoulder and says, "I know you're scared. I wouldn't expect you to be otherwise. But I also know that you can do this. And I promise you, things will be different when he's gone."

It might even help, if Blaine could believe him. If he really thought this was for the best, it might help. But he's his father's son, and he knows when he's being manipulated.

Of course, he also knows when he's run out of options. And this is that moment. "Okay," he says, and pulls his knife from its sheath, and holds it tight in his right hand. "I'm ready."


	20. O Children

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everything has been leading to this. Everything the Island has done to Blaine's father -- bringing him to the Hostiles, giving him Blaine to raise and to protect, the horrible experiences in Room 23 and the long recovery, their escape from the Island and their eventual return to it -- it was all to bring him here, to the Statue of Tawaret. 
> 
> To Jacob.
> 
> Except Blaine's father isn't there. _Blaine_ is. And the only question now is how far he'll go to save not only his father, but everyone he cares for.

He recognizes that chair.

It's probably the dumbest thing he could think of, but that doesn't change anything at all; he still recognizes the chair. Hard to forget, even after a decade, the way his father had panicked when he saw it. The sounds he made: not quite words, just low, desperate moans; the way he'd tried to run on legs so weak they could barely carry him more than a step. The way he'd crumpled into the dust, weeping, in front of all of their people, and there was nothing Blaine could do to help him, nothing he could do to make the fear go away.

_You know what Jacob has asked of your father in the past. What he's done to him._

And now Jacob is sitting in his father's old rocking chair, the one that almost destroyed him, and Blaine tightens his grip on the knife.

"This is your loophole?" Jacob asks, eyes on Jack like Blaine isn't even there (is that all he is now? Just a loophole?), and Jack grins back at him.

"Were you expecting someone else?"

And maybe he was, that's the thing; maybe...

_if he didn't, it wouldn't do any good to bring your father to Jacob._

Jacob turns to look at Blaine, then, sad eyes and blond stubble on his cheeks and a clean white shirt and Blaine has never been so angry at anyone, not ever. Because Jacob was expecting Blaine's father, because everything that Blaine's father saw was what Jacob wanted him to see -- in Room 23, in the jungle, all of it, every last little moment -- because Jacob has broken his father over and over again in order to get what he wanted.

_You know how little he cares._

And now he's got Blaine instead, and as terrified as Blaine is, as uncertain as he feels -- In a way he's glad. That it's not his father this time. That it's him.

Jacob stands up, slowly; the chair rocks back and forth once his weight is gone, back and forth, back and forth, and Blaine's palms start sweating. 

"I want you to know, Blaine," Jacob says, the first words Blaine has ever heard from him. Funny, how much his life has been dictated by what Jacob wants and what Jacob needs and what Jacob asks for, and yet this is the first time he's ever heard him talk. "No matter what he's told you, you have a choice."

Blaine swallows hard around the lump in his throat, the one that threatens to choke him when he needs his voice the most. He grips the knife, takes a deep breath, and asks, "And what about my father?"

 

*

 

The light fades, after a while. The high noise subsides, and then there's nothing but darkness, quiet. Brittany's body pressed tight against his back, her arms wrapped around his waist. Something solid and heavy clutched tight in the palm of his hand.

"Charlie?"

Kurt's eyes fly open; he looks at the ground in front of him, where Charlie's body is supposed to be. But there's nothing now; the grass isn't even flattened. It's just...

"He's gone," Miles says, softly.

"No." Shannon pushes up to her feet, suddenly -- runs towards the jungle, then back to the road, looking around wildly. "He can't -- He can't be -- Charlie? Charlie! _Charlie!_ "

"He's not gone," Sayid says; which is ridiculous, because of course he's gone. Everything is gone -- the road is barely even a road, really, just ruts in the dirt, overgrown with grass. There's no Jeeps, no headlights, no DHARMA, no Eloise. It's all gone. Everything is gone, except the heavy, solid thing in Kurt's hand. "He's exactly where he was. We're the ones who've gone."

"Charlie!" Shannon calls out again. "Charlie!"

Kurt slowly uncurls his fingers. In the palm of his hand is a heavy silver ring, with the letters _DS_ on it. 

Brittany hooks her chin over Kurt's shoulder, hugs him even tighter, and he can't stop shaking. 

"Charlie!" Shannon starts sobbing, then, loud and hard and painful-sounding, and Kurt's eyes fill with tears, and he stares at the ring in his hand.

"I'm so sorry," Juliet says. "I'm so sorry, Shannon, but he's gone. He's gone, and we need to get moving, we need to figure out where we are, we can't just --"

"It's my fault," Kurt says, louder than he means to but then maybe he wants Shannon to hear it, wants them all to know. What he did. How badly he's screwed up. Tears prick his eyes; he sucks in a deep breath and then another, and they catch in his throat, choking him. "It's my -- If I hadn't -- I wasn't --"

"Kurt," Brittany says, softly, and that's when the first sob rips its way out of his throat, so hard it hurts, and he can't stop it, he can't stop --

"He was trying to help me," Kurt says, even louder than he was before because it's true, it's all true. Tears blur his eyes so badly that he can barely see the ring still in his hand, weighing him down, but he can't let himself drop it or turn away. This is his fault. "If I hadn't been there in the first place, if he hadn't needed to save me, then --"

"Kurt." Sayid's voice, coming closer, and Kurt turns to look up at him, a dark worried shadow hovering over him

"I should've given you the gun." It hurts, coming out, but he forces himself to say it anyway, because it's true, he can see it now, he can see -- "If I'd given you the gun, he'd still be here. He'd -- But I didn't. I didn't. I kept it, and I shouldn't have, and I -- It's my fault. It's all my fault."

" _Don't._ " 

Crashing sounds as Shannon slides down the bank, off the road to the ground right in front of him, the ground where Charlie is supposed to be but isn't, because he's gone. He's gone, he's dead, and now they've moved on and he hasn't because he's dead and it's Kurt's fault and -- "I'm so sorry," he says, to the ground, to the ring, to Shannon now kneeling in front of him, because he owes her that much at least. "I'm so sorry, I'm so --"

"I said _don't_ , Kurt." Shannon grips him by the chin, lifts his face up until he has to look at her, her eyes red and swollen with the same tears he can't stop crying. "Don't you dare blame yourself for this. Don't you ever, ever --"

And he doesn't want to argue with her when she's crying like that, but he can't help it, he can't. "But if I hadn't --"

"But you did." Shannon's hand slides down to his shoulder, grip so tight it almost hurts. "Because you were trying to protect us. Because you cared, like he did, and that's not a bad thing and it's not wrong and don't you dare tell me it is, not right now."

"But I --" Because it's one thing to care, and it's another thing to do, and if he'd done things differently, then maybe --

"If you weren't a threat to the DHARMA operatives," Sayid says, quietly, "they wouldn't have gone after you in the first place. You did everything I would have done. And to be quite honest, I sincerely doubt Charlie would've let me die any more than he would have let you. That's not who he is."

Kurt looks up at Sayid, crouching on the side of the road and staring down at them; he looks back at Shannon, watching him with red-rimmed eyes.

"Charlie made a choice," she says, her voice choked with tears. "He chose to save you. Don't tell me he was wrong. Don't you ever, ever tell me that. Because he wasn't. He wasn't." 

And he can't take it anymore, he just can't, he can't look at her or Sayid or the ring, he can't deal with any of it; he just falls forward, pulling Brittany with him, until his head is buried in Shannon's shoulder and she's clinging to him as awkwardly as he's clinging to her, the ring still held tight in his hand, her tears soaking his hair and his ear and the side of his face, his soaking the fabric of her jumpsuit.

"It isn't your fault," Shannon says, so fiercely that Kurt has to believe her. "It isn't your fault. Don't you ever, ever say it is again. Don't you dare."

Kurt just cries, and cries, and cries.

 

*

 

"I want you to know, Blaine," Jacob says, the first words Blaine has ever heard from him. "No matter what he's told you, you have a choice."

Blaine swallows hard. He grips the knife, and asks, "What about my father?"

Jacob blinks at him. Like he's not used to being questioned, like no one's ever dared. Maybe they haven't. "What about him?" he asks, in that same maddeningly calm voice.

Blaine's breath hitches in his chest -- for just a moment, he almost --

But he doesn't, yet. Flexes his fingers around the handle of the knife, looks Jacob square in the eye, and asks, "Would he have a choice? If it was him instead of me, if he -- What choice would he have, if I wasn't here?"

Jacob looks at Jack again, when Jack didn't even say anything or do anything, didn't even twitch and still Jacob turns to him first and Blaine can feel himself starting to lose it a little. 

"Don't!" he snaps. "Don't do that, don't look at him like that. Like I'm not important. Like I just happened to be here, by mistake, and not --" Blaine's voice cracks high, and even as Jacob finally really looks at him, Blaine has to turn away, to hide his tears. He stares at the tapestry on the wall, at the rocking chair in front of it ( _his father on the ground sobbing and hiding his face and no one will help him, no one but Blaine --_ ) "And don't tell me I have a choice, either. Because I don't. Because you didn't want me to."

 

*

 

He has no idea where the hell he is. 

He keeps walking anyway.

It's so dark in the jungle -- there's no kind of light anywhere, not really, and he can barely see the trees even when he's about to smack into them. He keeps his hands out in front of him, and it helps some, but he still takes a few branches to the face. He still trips and falls over roots and rocks and whatever else is on the ground, lizards or whatever. He knows he's torn his pants, knows his knees and palms are bleeding, his hair's a mess and he's covered with dirt and rotting leaves and probably some other stuff he doesn't want to think about. Lizards or whatever.

He keeps walking.

And he's dizzy, too, that's the thing. Whatever hit him, which was probably Blaine although it might not have been except if it was the Smoke Monster he'd be dead now so he's pretty sure it was Blaine -- anyway, he got hit pretty hard. And his head hurts and his ears are still ringing a little and he's dizzy, like really dizzy. And so sometimes when he falls it's not even because he's tripped over something; he's just falling. And then sometimes he doesn't fall, but just sits down because standing up is too hard. And once he kind of just collapses because he needs to throw up, so he falls down and lets it happen, lets his body retch and heave, and he can't wash his mouth out when it's over because he doesn't have water, and he thinks there's vomit on his hands and maybe some on his shirt too, and he's dizzy, and he can't stand up for falling down, and he realizes that he has no idea what he's going to do if he ever finds Blaine again, because he was never very useful before but now he's basically incapable of carrying himself, let alone anyone else. 

But someone has to find Blaine, and he doesn't know if anyone else is looking.

So he picks himself up, and he keeps walking. 

He walks in the dark, calling out Blaine's name, falling and picking himself back up again and bleeding and not caring and hurting and not letting himself feel it and always, always hoping, always listening for that answering call, for he doesn't know how long. Just walks and walks and walks, and yells "Blaine!" into the darkness until his throat hurts, and then he keeps walking, keeps yelling, keeps listening -- 

Right up until he hears the dog. 

"Blaine?" he calls again, confused (was there a dog, before? He doesn't remember a dog). And the dog barks again, closer this time, and then there's a crackling sound like snapping twigs and leaves and lizards or whatever, and more barking, and the next thing he knows there's something fuzzy and soft colliding with his legs and this time when he goes down his hands end up in fur, and something is licking his face, and apparently there is a dog now. 

It takes him a couple of moments to realize how fucking great this is. 

"You're a dog," he says, and the dog pants in his ear and licks at his face. He can't see much, because it's still so dark, but maybe it's lighter now because he's pretty sure he can see that the dog's fur is yellow, and that his eyes are brown, and that he's some kind of labrador or something. "Cops use dogs. To find people. So... So you can find Blaine for me, right?" The dog draws back, and yeah, it is getting light -- it must be dawn or something, because that is definitely a yellow lab smiling a dog smile back at him. "I just need something -- something that smells like him, like... I mean, maybe my shirt, right? I mean, it smells like other things too, but..." And he's actually got both hands on the hem of his shirt, and is about to pull it up and over his head, when the dog takes off into the not-quite-so-darkness of the jungle. 

"Hey!" Cooper pushes himself up, wobbling a little -- he takes a step, stumbles, and almost falls again, but manages to catch himself, standing with one hand out, the other clinging desperately to a tree. "Hey, wait, come back. I need you! I need you to help find --"

Then there's more rustling, and someone steps through the trees holding a flashlight, followed by a bunch of other people that Cooper can't really see that well because the flashlight's in his eyes and it's a lot of light after all that darkness and it sort of hurts a little, and also makes it so he can't see anything but silhouettes. He pulls his outstretched hand back to cover his eyes, but it doesn't really help.

"Blaine?" he asks.

"Did he just say 'Blaine?'" one of the flashlight people says -- male voice, Encino accent. "Isn't that --"

"You were on the plane." Another figure comes forward, close enough that Cooper's dazzled eyes can start to make out some features -- kind of tallish, on the skinny side, sad flat hair, young-looking and kind of familiar in this weird -- "The really handsome guy from Ajira 316, you sat across the aisle from me and --"

"You're the kid with the tall hair," Cooper realizes, because okay maybe the hair is flat now, and the kid's eyes are puffy and his face is blotchy and red, but still, he'd recognize that nose and that voice anywhere. "You're -- Oh my God, you're Blaine's boyfriend. Kurt, right? You're Kurt, and you're --" He lets go of the tree, stumbles forward, catches himself with one hand on Kurt's shoulder and the other on his waist, and he feels something rough and stiff and dry on his hands, something not quite unfamiliar enough anymore. Looks down, sees the dark stain. "Oh God, you're bleeding. You're bleeding. Are you okay, do you need --"

"I'm fine," Kurt says, and helps hold Cooper up when he wobbles again, everything starting to spin, but he can't let go now, not now that he's so close, not now that everything's finally working out. "I'm fine, it's not -- Why are you looking for Blaine? What happened, where is he? Where's his dad? What --"

"It's this guy." Cooper white-knuckles Kurt's jumpsuit when his knees threaten to give out; a couple seconds later, there's someone behind him, helping him sit. Kurt goes down with him, still holding tight to Cooper's elbows. "Locke. I don't know who he is, exactly, but he kidnapped Hurley, and then Ben and Ethan went after him too, and he kidnapped Ben and killed Ethan --" (one of the flashlight people takes in a deep breath at that, someone else says, "Oh my God") -- "and so we went after him, because Jack said that Locke was taking Ben to Jacob, because Ben thinks Blaine is dead and so that way he'll do whatever Jacob wants, but Blaine's not dead, so he was going to try to get to Jacob first, but then there was this smoke, and it chased us away from Jack and Sun, but then Jack found us again, but then it got Ana, and maybe Jack too, because Jack was with Ana, and then --" 

And then Cooper stops, because he hadn't known that before. "Jack was with Sun," he repeats. "When the smoke came. And then he was with Ana when the smoke came and that's -- That shouldn't -- I --"

"Jack," the man behind him says, softly. He has an interesting accent; Cooper can't place it. "What was his last name? Do you remember it?"

Cooper tries to shake his head, regrets it a moment later when it makes the dizziness come back; he sags back into the grip of the man behind him and lets himself be held up for a second. He needs that energy to think with, anyway. "No, but he was a doctor. He said -- But he wasn't on our plane. He lied about it. Ben had pictures, all these pictures. From the other plane. Oceanic 815. And Jack..." 

"You said he was taking you to Jacob," someone else says, a girl. She sounds scared. "You said he was taking Blaine to Jacob. You said --"

Kurt lets go of Cooper, then; he turns around, looks back into the glare of the flashlight. "But you know Jacob," he says, softly. "Don't you, Brittany? You told Richard --"

"But he never said anything about Blaine!" The girl sounds half hysterical now. "He never said; he would've, if he -- " And then she makes this weird, sobbing noise, and seconds later, there's crashing sounds, like someone's running away. 

"Brittany!" And Kurt pulls himself to his feet, goes crashing off after her. Someone else does too, maybe; it's hard to tell, there's so much crashing, and he thinks one of the flashlights is gone, because it's not so bright now, easier to see, easier to think and --

"We gotta find him," Cooper says, because it doesn't matter whether Jack is dead or not, or smoke or not, or whatever he is. Blaine's still out there. Alone. "We gotta go, we gotta --"

He tries to pick himself up, can't quite, ends up crawling on his hands and knees for a little bit until the man behind him manages to catch him by the waist. 

Someone else crouches down in front of him -- blonde, pretty, sad-eyed. "It's gonna be okay," she says, quietly. "Miles and Shannon are going after them. They'll be fine."

"But Blaine," Cooper says, softly. "He's... He's alone. I gotta -- I gotta find him, I gotta..." 

The blonde woman looks at the man with the funny accent, and then sighs. "Okay," she says, finally. "But we're gonna help you, okay?"

"Okay," Cooper says. "Okay." 

The blonde woman smiles at him; she has a nice smile, really. Then she moves, goes so she's crouched under Cooper's left arm, and the guy with the accent moves so he's under Cooper's right, and the two of them basically pick him up. The motion makes his head swim, and he has to close his eyes for a second. 

When he opens them again, the dog is sitting right in front of him, waiting.

"Okay," Cooper says to the dog. "Okay. Go find Blaine."

The dog barks once, then trots slowly into the jungle; Cooper and the blonde woman and the man with the accent follow behind.

 

*

 

"And don't tell me I have a choice, either," Blaine says, and his voice cracks again, but he doesn't stop. "Because I don't. Because you didn't want me to."

Jacob says nothing; Blaine stares at the tapestry for a long time, at the chair in front of it. He wonders if his father would recognize it now, if he were here. One last contingency plan. Like the tumor, and Juliet and Karofsky, and Brittany and Kurt and Eloise and Ethan and _everything_. To make absolutely sure that Blaine's father did what Jacob wanted.

"You never gave him a choice," Blaine says, turning back around to look at Jacob. "Everything you did to him, everything that happened --" He's crying now, really crying, tears streaking down his face, and for a moment he sees Jacob almost crack, and honestly that just makes it worse. Because it isn't fair for him to only feel it now, not after he's done so much for so long and never cared at all. "And Brittany, and Kurt -- Because they couldn't let other people be hurt, not when they knew they could stop it. You knew that. And you made sure they were with us, so they would go back and set it up exactly how you wanted, because you understood. That they cared. And you used that, and you used my dad, and you used _me_ , and I --"

He looks back at the rocking chair one last time and takes a deep breath.

"I'm sorry," he says, and looks down at the knife in his hand. Because he cares. Because no matter what it costs him in the long run, he can't let anyone else get hurt. 

"I'm sorry, but I... I can't. I just... I can't."

The knife blade flashes in the firelight as Blaine sweeps it out to the side, brings it back in hard, and Jacob's face is impossibly sad as his blood spills over Blaine's hand.

 

*

 

Ben's not entirely unfamiliar with this place; the old, ruined statue on the beach, the four-toed foot. He'd always wondered what it had looked like when it was whole. If it ever had been.

"Is this --" 

Richard just nods, keeps walking, torch held high. Ben stays with him, step after step until finally Richard stops, turns and looks down at him. "Maybe," he says, softly. "Maybe you shouldn't come. Jacob only talks to the Leader, and --"

"Am I not the Leader now?" Ben asks, almost offended, and Richard shakes his head and turns away. Ben grabs him by the elbow, hard. "My son is down there, Richard. And I am not --"

Then there's noise from further along the beach, a familiar voice calling out "Brittany! Brittany, wait!" and Ben lets go of Richard, pushes past him. He can just see them coming through the trees, Brittany's long hair swishing behind her as she runs, a tall figure that has to be Kurt hurrying along behind. "Brittany, please --"

And then Kurt sees them and stops, lifts something to his shoulder (a rifle, and the ease with which he handles it makes Ben's stomach lurch), and Ben hears the sound of a gun being cocked behind him.

"Everyone stop!" He can't get between them, not really, but he does his best -- arms outstretched, placing himself definitively in the line of fire . Brittany finally skids to a halt, no more than thirty feet away. Kurt's defensive stance softens. "Drop your weapons. Right now. That is an order."

The rifle slips from Kurt's hands, falls in a spray of sand. 

Two more figures burst through the scrub trees at the edge of the beach, weapons at their sides, and Ben hasn't heard Sawyer's gun hit the sand yet so he calls out, "Don't! Please, don't -- It's fine, it's safe, we're all friends, _please_ don't --" 

They slow to a stop, weapons still at their sides, and Sawyer lets out a breath and it's not quite what Ben asked for, maybe, but it's enough. It's enough.

"Mr. Anderson?" Kurt's voice is younger than Ben's heard it for a long time, young and fearful and Ben's moving before he's thought twice about it, hurrying forward as Kurt and Brittany start stumbling through the sand towards him, reaching out and then he's got one teenager under each arm, four arms around his waist, Brittany's hair tickling his neck and Kurt's forehead pressed to his temple and he clutches at them like he never wants to let them go, breathes in gunpowder and sweat and blood and fear but they're alive, they're alive, they're here -- 

"I was so scared," he says, and he shouldn't but he can't help it because he was -- because they vanished and he couldn't help them and no matter what happened since then there was always a part of him wondering if they were alive, if they were safe, if --

Brittany sniffles into the collar of his shirt, and Kurt clings to him, and Ben just breathes. 

"You're all right," he says, and it's more a reassurance for him than it is for them. "I've got you. You're all right now."

And for a moment, he almost believes it. 

"Ben." Richard's voice is quiet, and sad, and Ben stiffens when he hears it. "If you'd rather stay here, you can --"

"No." Ben pulls back fast, too fast, and the way Kurt and Brittany stare at him breaks his heart a little. But he can't... "I'm sorry," he says. "I won't be long, all right? I'm just going to go and get Blaine, and then I'll be right back. I promise."

Brittany sniffles, hunching in on herself; Kurt looks at her, then back at Ben. His eyes are swollen like he's been crying; there's blood on the DHARMA coveralls he's wearing, and it's almost enough to make Ben stay, but not quite. Not when his son still isn't safe.

And then Kurt turns, improbably, to Richard. "I don't understand," he says. "If Blaine's with Jacob -- If Jacob is Brittany's friend, if he talks to her, then why -- Why is it different with Blaine? What's so different about this? I don't understand. I don't --"

"It's not different," Brittany says, quietly, her eyes still on the ground. "It's not different, and that's the problem. It's the same. It's always been -- It's always been the same."

"That doesn't make _sense_ ," Kurt says, but the thing is, it does. Ben can see it in his eyes when he looks at Richard, hear it in the crack of his voice.

It makes exactly the same sense to Kurt that it makes to Ben, and that is an awful, awful thing.

"Stay with her," Ben says, and rests one hand on Kurt's shoulder. "Please? Take care of her. I'll be back soon, with Blaine. I promise you."

Kurt looks at him for a long time; then, once more, he turns to Richard.

"I'll take care of him," Richard says; his hand settles in between Ben's shoulder blades, and Ben has a sudden, startling insight into just why Kurt might've been sent back in time thirty years. "Just like I told your father I would."

Finally, Kurt steps back, puts his arm around Brittany and pulls her close. "Hurry back," he says.

The two people from the scrub trees have been quietly closing the distance; they fall in behind Kurt and Brittany, such painfully familiar faces. Ben knows he should say something, but he can't, quite. Not yet. 

Shannon nods at him; Miles sets a hand on Brittany's shoulder.

"I'll be back," Ben says. "I promise."

Then he looks up at Richard, says, "Let's go," and Richard nods. 

His hand stays on Ben's back as they make their slow way towards the statue.

 

*

 

He burns up so fast. 

It shouldn't be possible for a human body to burn that quickly. Blaine probably shouldn't know that, but he does. Knows that even in a special crematorium, it takes hours. And this is just a fire, just a normal fire to warm a cold night, and it shouldn't burn anything that quickly. 

But Jack kicks Jacob's lifeless body into the fire (his blood on Blaine's hands, on the t-shirt he's wearing, on the shorts Kurt wore to Dalton Academy and on Blaine's bare legs underneath and --) and he goes up like he's made out of paper, flames flaring bright and then dwindling away again, and there's nothing left of him.

Like he was never there at all.

Just his blood on Blaine's hands. Dark in his nailbeds, drying sticky on his knuckles. So much blood.

"I have to say I'm impressed," Jack says, resting his hand on Blaine's shoulder, and Blaine startles, stumbling backward. Jack catches him, steadies him with clean hands, and Blaine suddenly feels so sick. "You really are your father's son. And I know he's going to be very, very proud of you when he sees what you've done."

A sob hitches in Blaine's chest -- he wants his father so much, but he can't -- he's covered in blood and there's a knife at his feet and he doesn't want his father to see, he doesn't want his father to _know_ \--

"Blaine?" His father, calling out, and Blaine can't breathe, he can't -- "Blaine, are you there? Blaine!"

Jack's grip on Blaine tightens; he drags him out around the fire, to the very center of the room, facing the stone steps.

"Blaine!" his father calls again, frightened now, and Blaine wants him so badly but he's so scared, he's so scared and he can't, he _can't_ \--

"Answer your father, Blaine," Jack says, fingers biting in hard.

And Blaine doesn't want to, but he doesn't have a choice. "Dad?" 

 

*

 

"Dad?"

_Stone steps and he doesn't want to go down them, doesn't want to see what's waiting for him at the bottom, but Richard's hand is on him, pushing him forward._

"Dad!" 

_Fire. Rain. A knife in the back. Blood on his hands, so much blood on his hands, and his father is there, shaking his head, telling him --_

"Dad! Dad!"

And he comes out of it all at once, the world blurred before him -- _I found your glasses_ \-- and it's dim, the only light coming from the corner of the room, but there are warm, strong hands on his face and a tousle-headed figure looming over him and Ben manages to breathe again, sucking in deep gulps of air. 

"It's okay," Blaine says, one hand restlessly smoothing down the side of Ben's face, the other settling just over Ben's heart. "It's okay. I'm here. I'm right here. I've got you."

"Blaine," Ben says, because he can still feel it -- the weight, the blood, the rain -- but because Blaine is also here, and it doesn't... It doesn't make sense.

_It's always been the same._

"It's okay, Dad," Blaine says, and when Ben struggles to sit up, fighting against numb legs to push himself upright, Blaine is there to catch him, one strong arm looping around Ben's waist and pulling him into Blaine's shoulder, and there's something missing, something not quite right, but Ben can't --

Blaine reaches down with his free arm, fiddles with something, and the electric hum of the hospital bed is what finally helps Ben shake off the remnants of the dream. Reminds him that he's not on the Island, that Blaine's not dead, that they're safe in Ohio, living in the Hummel-Hudson's spare room until their own house can be remodeled.

Ben closes his eyes for just a moment, lets himself cling to his son even as the bed raises into position behind him. 

When he opens his eyes, he can just see the gleam of the room's one light, shining off the metal spokes of his wheelchair.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's it for Part Three! I"ll start posting Part Four as soon as I am able to do so, but that likely won't be until I have at least a first draft version of all 20 chapters. I'm wrapping up Chapter Four and beginning Chapter Five right now, so hopefully things continue to flow reasonably well and I don't have too long of a hiatus. I will be posting updates on my tumblr as I did for Part Three, and if anyone has any questions about the story, I'll be happy to answer them over there. (Unless they're spoilers; I might reserve the right to keep quiet on some of those.) Thank you for reading this, and hopefully I will see you again soon!


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